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Copyright, 1892, by Mary Lambert . 9,A^ 



SAN FRANCISCO : 

Printed by THE BANCROFT COMPANY 
1892 



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PAGE 

California 7 

Oakland 9 

Sonnet to an Oak 10 

For Somebody's Sake 10 

A Rose 11 

Trust 12 

Dreams 13 

Noon 15 

Hymn to the Sacred Heart 15 

The Angel's Tidings 16 

To an Apple 18 

The Heart 18 

The Wedding Ring 19 

A Song 20 

Thy Grave .... 21 

The Berkeley Hills 22 

Thy Caressing Hands 23 

A Rich Man's Reverie 24 

Autumn 25 

You 26 

My Soul and 1 27 

The Stream of Life 29 

Legend of the Jessamine 30 

Give Thy Love Now 32 

Little Things 33 

Weighing the Baby........ 34 

The Old, Old Story 35 

What Shall I Sing? 36 

Twilight 37 

The Passion Flower 38 

To Letitia..... 39 

Night 40 

St. Mary's 41 

The Proposal 42 

3 



4 

PAGE 

The Blue and Gray 44 

Adieu 46 

To Florence 47 

The Dunce 48 

Louise 51 

Do Not Fret 52 

Pretty Nell 53 

The Accounting 54 

lyove 56 

The Fortune 56 

Memories 58 

Hymn to St. Joseph 59 

Failure 61 

Faith Is Best 61 

My Love and 1 62 

A Bell 64 

Legend of the Moss Rose 64 

A Rainy Day 65 

Divorced 66 

No! Ask Me Not! 67 

Fire-Light Fancies 68 

Fate 69 

Only a Word 70 

The Christening of the Marechal Niel Rose 71 

Longfellow 72 

Not For Ourselves Alone .* 73 

A Footstep , 74 

Baby Is Drifting Away 74 

Beside The Sea 76 

The Twins , 77 

Christmas Tide 78 

Three Letters o 79 

Kaster 81 

A Tableau 82 

Thanksgiving Day 83 

Legend of the Vine 83 

Child Life 85 

Woman 86 

Duty 86 

To Thyself Be True 87 

My Album 88 



5 

PAGE 

The Shadow on the Curtain 90 

An Old Man's Dream 91 

She and 1 92 

Gold 94 

To-Day 94 

A Berkeley Cottage 95 

Under the Mulberry Tree 96 

The Devil's Bride 97 

Tears 99 

Work 99 

Dead 100 

Wine 101 

Hope 103 

Beautiful Hands 103 

My Neighbor 104 

Al^etter 105 

Blighted 106 

The Mission of the Holy Cross 107 

The Hammer 109 

Aftermath 110 

Kven-tide Ill 

Sonnet 112 

The Suicide 113 

A Dream 115 

Post Mortem 116 

Nature's Song 117 

Minstrel Waifs 118 

Old Time 119 

Truth 120 

Fraternity ....121 

Safe 122 

The Bachelor's Song 123 

The Ivover's Response to the Bachelor 123 

My Love 124 

Growing Old 125 

Mater Dolorosa 126 

My Land 127 

The Irish Fairies 128 

Fairy Castles 129 

Fairy Palaces 131 

The Leprehaun 132 



6 

PAGE 

The Fairies' Dance 134 

Amelia Ophelia Jones 136 

Ivonging 138 

Legend of the Heliotrope 139 

Which? 141 

Marguerite 143 

My Beloved's Eyes 143 

" I Don't Care ! " 145 

Baby's Dead 146 

Two Windows 148 

In a Church 150 

My Friend 151 

De Profundis, a Prayer 152 

Father Damien 153 

The Drunkard's Song 155 

Our Baby 156 

Transfiguration 157 

Scotty's Thanksgiving 159 

Lines Written in a Friend's Album 161 

Two Travellers ..162 

Perseus 164 

The Last Kiss 165 

Just Take the World As You Find It 166 

Charity 168 

Erina 169 

The King of Shadows , 171 

O Salutaris Hostia ! 173 

A Soul's Remonstrance 175 

Tim 175 

Gethsemane o 179 

Stronger than Death .- 180 

Lady Irene 182 

Ave Maria 187 

Lines , 187 

Legend of Mt. Diablo 188 

The Dying Magdalene o.< 195 





Calltornta 

A beautiful land arose in the West, 

Like a sea nymph fair on the ocean's breast, 

Beloved and caressed by the waves of peace, 

That merrily sing as they leap and increase. 

With balmiest air beneath the skies, 

That can warm the heart and brighten the eyes. 

The tropical breeze o'er the ocean blows 

Its odorous breath from the land of the rose. 

Above her the sky is stainless and blue 

As that of Italia that poets imbue. 

The bright stars look down with their crystal eyes 

To mirror this land in the far away skies. 

With field after field of growing grain, 

With her hills and valleys, her mountains and plain^ 

Her cities and homes with their blooming flow'rs, 

Her rivers and clifi's with their rocky tow'rs. 

Her giant-like trees as sentinels stand. 

The appointed of God to watch o'er His land. 

Majestic as souls of the heroes old. 

Their voices are heard in the breezes bold . 

In paeans of gladness loud they sing, 

And their mammoth arms so joyously swing, 

Awaking the echoes asleep in the hills 

Till turret and tower with melody thrills. 



Down deep in the earth in rocky homes, 
In the ghostly gloom are her elfish gnomes; 
Away from the sun and the dajdight bright, 
They merrily toil from the morn to the night; 
They merrily sing at work all day 
In their caverns deep from the world away; 
Their sun is the gold, and its shining light 
Illumines their homes with its radiance bright. 

Fantastic and weird it flits about, 

All around, above, now in and then out, 

They live in the earth, in the earth grow old. 

And merrily dig for the shining gold. 

Her people are children nobly sired, 

With the full, round limbs by sculptors desired ; 

The Saxon and Celt, with the Latin and Dane, 

A people have left without blemish or stain. 

The ruby red lips and dusky eyes, 
And the rich warm blood 'neath the Southern skies, 
Commingled with that of the North and East, 
Our glorious type of the West released. 
Original, free, yet gentle and wise, 
With a noble soul in their shining eyes ; 
Undaunted and fearless, yet tender and true. 
The grandest of people the world ever knew. 

Oh glorious land of the blessed West ! 
With a golden veil o'er thy virgin breast. 
Oh, land of the sun, of the fig and vine ! 
From summits of snow to forests of pine, 
From tropical valleys broad and free, 
From trees and mounts to the placid sea. 
We love thee full well. Oh thou holy land ! 
Thou ' ' Star of the West ' ' now shining so grand ! 



Oh, land of the lotus ! lyand of our love 



Who tastes of thy sweetness shall nevermore rove. 
In life and in death, to thy shores they turn; 
In life and in death, with thy love they burn. 
When years upon years, in the cycle vast, 
Shall have rolled the present down low in the past, 
When swept from the earth and by all forgot, 
Our souls shall remember this well-loved spot. 



'iXS*B''CSS.iE' 



®af?lanb 



Thou art seated in state on a bowered throne, 

That is kissed by Pacific's sea. 
Where thou watchest the ships on its bosom strown, 

As they lovingly fly to thee. 
Thou art royally decked in thy virgin mold. 

With its wrappings of emerald sheen, 
And the russet glimmers of purpling gold. 

As they stream from thy hills of green. 

Oh, thou queen of a land that is strong and brave, 

Of a new and a budding world, 
Thy bright fame shall be borne on the trumpet wave, 

And thy ensign abroad unfurled ! 
Thou dost blend with the oak, and the flushing rose, 

In symmetrical fervid stroke. 
All the graces and languor of love's repose, 

With the strength of the sturdy oak. 

Oh, fair city of oaks, by the silver sea. 

With thy face to the Golden Gate, 
Thou dost govern with exquisite brilliancy, 

From thy throne of majestic state ! 



10 

Oh, enchantress most fair ! Thou dost carve thy name 

In the pulse of each loving breast, 
Till forever it burns with thy glowing flame, 

Thou fair sorceress of the West ! 

Sonnet to an ®a?? 

Forsaken oak ! Thou standest here alone ! 

Forlorn ! Bereft of every kindred tree, 

An alien in the city named for thee, 
That once thy sturdy brethren called their own. 
Progression's hand regardless of thy moan, 

Has smote thee to the earth most dastardly, 

And left no trace for wondering men to see 
By what strange right we made thy name our own. 
Thy forests fell beneath destruction's wing ! 

No more the lads and lasses climb the boughs 
In groves where once thou reigned a royal king ! 

And listened to the rustic lover's vows. 
Ah, lonely oak ! Perchance thy gnarled breast 
Shall soon be pierced and leveled with the rest ! 



-tsr^xvTsr^iO- 



Oh ! My heart is light and gay, 
As I sing the hours away. 
And my eyes are bright, they say, 
For somebody's sake — 
For somebody's sake ! 

And I place a flower fair 
In the coils of my raven hair 
With a wealth of loving care, 
For somebody's sake ! 



11 

I would wish for beauty's dow'r, 
With its witching, thrilling pow'r. 
Ah, I wish it every hour, 

For somebody's sake — 

For somebody's sake ! 

With a flushing happy face 
I arrange the dainty lace 
In soft waves of artful grace, 
For somebody's sake ! 

My sweet secret I would keep 
In my heart so still and deep, 
Where no prying eyes could peep, 

For somebody's sake — 

For somebody's sake ! 

But the tell-tale blush will rise, 
And my treasured secret flies 
Through the sparkle of my eyes, 
For somebody's sake ! 

H 1Rose 

Which rose shall it be ? — you ask: 
The life-tinted rose of red. 

Or, choose I the snowy white, 
With face like the pallid dead ? 

Oh, give me the peaceful white, 
That holds not a breath of strife ! 

Its calm is much sweeter than 
The passionate rose of life. 

It whispers of rest and peace. 
And glows like a blessed psalm. 

Its pinions of heaven's white 
Are steeped in a god-like calm. 



12 

The breath of the warm red rose 
Bears on its perfumed train 

Gay pleasures with phantom hate, 
And love with her sister pain. 

It whispers of joy and strife, 
It gleams with the ruby's shine, 

And borrows the blood red glow 
That lurks in the madd'ning wine. 

Tempestuous rose of life ! 

The passionate rose of red, 
Its petals are never clasped 

In passionless hands of dead. 

The tremulous rose of love 
Is not for an aching heart, 

Whose passion-burned ashes lie, 
Imper^'ious to its dart. 

Then take back the red, and give 
The rose of the dead to me, 

There's peace in its tranquil breath 
And odorous sanctity. 

Urust 

I know not, I ask not, the loves 

That thrilled thy heart. 
I love thee as fondly and true, 

Just as thou art. 

I care not if love's coronet 
Once crowned thy brow; 
' Tis knowledge enough that I know 
You love me now. 



13 



There rises no doubt in my heart, 

Nor shade of fear, 
While in thy clear eyes I can read 

That I am dear. 

A nature so pure and so true, 

Ne'er could betray; 
And over the future there shines 

I/Ove's golden ray. 

The past — we return it unto 

Oblivion's dust ; 
The present and future we greet 

With faith and trust. 

A faith that grows firmer and deep 

With every breath; 
A trust that's abiding and strong, 

And lasts " 'til death." 

My heart will ne'er feel a regret 

For years long past, 
Contented and happy, if you 

But love me last. 

Breams 

TO MY GODCHILD, CHESTER A. DOYLE. 

Full many dreams are woven 

Around thy infancy, 
Their rosy tints foretelling 

A bright futurity. 

Such dreams that loving parents 
Can only dare to dream, 

Illume the misty future 

With hope's refulgent beam. 



14 

They hover o'er thy cradle 

And banish other cares ; 
They mix with every labor, 

And fill the heart with prayers. 

They brighten life's best pleasures, 
And shine through troubled fears ; 

They chase the darkest shadow, 
And check the saddest tears. 

Sweet dreams ! Sweet bud of promise, 

The blest first-born thou art. 
Pure babe ! Pure dreams that strengthen 

And purify the heart. 

Sweet child, with e3^es reflecting 

Deep wells of light divine, 
Among thy wefted dreamings 

I weave this prayer of mine. 

May Heaven grant fulfilment 
To all that 's wished for him, 

And manhood's full achievement 
O'erflow the topmost brim. 

Through by-ways darkly tangled, 

Or high-ways gleaming far, 
May faith shine out in beauty. 

And be his guiding star ! 

Her loveliness entrancing, 

In splendor shining out, 
Undimmed by sinful scorning. 

Unveiled by clouding doubt ! 

Oh, may a lover's ardor 

Inflame his gentle breast, 
For this celestial treasure. 

His dearest, and his best ! 



15 

IRoon 

The chiming flow of the noon bell falls 

Upon the busy air, 
In sweetest language its music calls 

The crowd to rest and pray'r. 
The tools are dropped from the toiler's hand, 

And labor's noises cease, 
While softly over the throbbing land. 

Are spread the wings of peace. 
The children rush like a swarm of bees, 

Released from irksome rule ; 
The dumb beasts craunch in contented ease 

Their dinners crisp and cool. 
From out the depths of devoted hearts 

A wreath of prayer ascends, 
To bless the toilers and busy marts 

Where faith makes full amends. 
Oh, blessed bell, there 's a magic charm 

Within thy chiming hour ; 
It blesses the toil, and the toiler's arm 

Renews with freshened power ! 

ib^mn to tbe Sacreb ibeatt 

There 's a place where the weary can rest, 

Uncorroded by shackles of care. 
Where the poorest, the sad and distrest, 

Are the welcomest visitors there. 
We are called to this warm sunny fold 

From life's burdens and sorrowing smart. 
From the moorlands and drearisome wold 

To the haven of Christ's sacred heart. 



16 



" Come to me, and I'll give to thee rest ;" 

Through the ages still calling to us, 
Comes the voice of his tenderest breast, 

Ever lovingly whispering thus. 
Oh, dear voice, ever calling to me, 

I^et me taste of thy love, I implore ! 
In humility answering thee. 

Let me dwell in thy heart evermore ! 

Let thy love be a magnet of flame 

That will draw all my wishes to thee ! 
In temptations, in sorrow, and shame. 

Be a merciful heart unto me ! 
Oh, dear heart, ever loving and just, 

Teach my heart in submission to bend ! 
Oh, dear Jesus ! Dear heart that I trust, 

Be my hope and my strength to the end ! 

Xlbe Hngers XTtbtngs 

Outside of Bethlehem's silent walls, 
Beyond the sound of the sentrj^'s calls, 
Three shepherds guarded since close of day, 
The slumb'ring flocks that around them lay. 
A sudden flood of supernal light 
Up-startled the watchers thrilled with fright, 
While lo, an angel of God appeared ! 
And close to the trembling shepherds neared. 

" Fear not, fear not," said the vision fair, 
' 'A message of wonderful love I bear. 
Fear not ! Fear not ! 'Tis without alloy. 
This wond'rous tidings of greatest joy. 



17 



To every nation joy I send ; 

To every people joy extend. 

Then joyous hear, for I come to bring 

You joyful tidings of Christ, your King. 

" Forever blest is this hallowed morn, 
For know — to day is your King new born 
Of Mary, virgin. Go, seek you them 
In David's city of Bethlehem ! 
And by this sign you may surely know 
The Saviour and King to whom you go. 
In swaddling clothes is this Christ divine, 
And cradled in manger with the kine. ' ' 

The angel ceased, and hosannas rung 
From troops celestial, who joyful sung, 
Resounding far through the earth and sky, 
Their "Glory, glory to God on high ! 
And peace to men of good will on earth ! " 
A peace, sweet peace, with the Saviour's birth. 
The new blest earth felt a joyous thrill, 
And a deathless peace all its pulses fill. 

The shepherds rose and forgot their fears, 
Uprose in mingled delight and tears ; 
And straight to Bethlehem's city sought 
The King whose tidings the angel brought. 
Within a manger the infant slept, 
While Mary and Joseph their vigil kept. 
These lowly men at tbe lowly shrine. 
In rapture adored that child divine. 

Nor doubted they the incarnate Word, 
Whose royal message their ears had heard. 
The seraphim's song their soul inspired 
With a joyous peace they long desired. 



18 

A peace new-born from the mangered throne ; 
A peace to the world undreamed, unknown. 
Sing out ye bells, in wild rapture sing 
The angel's tidings of Christ, our King ! 

Uo an Hpple 

Oh lovely fruit ! whose faultless beauty shines 

In perfect grace. From out thy rotund cheeks 
Is flashed the scarlet flames of ruby wines, 

Through which thy ripe skin peeps in golden streaks. 
With keen desire I wooed thy luscious heart, 

But found a horrid worm full nestled there, 
Its nauseous length entrailed thro' every part. 

My lips affrighted shrunk in sick despair. 
And, cursing, dashed the foul deceit away. - 

I gazed upon the flawless treacherj" 
Whose tempting loveliness discarded lay ; 

Its unveiled heart a squirming mockery. 
Ah, fair deceit, that lies neglected now ! 

How many forms are fair, yet false as thou ! 



tKHai^tsrvJC- 



Ube Ibeart 



What fathomless caves lie hid in the heart, 

Unpierced by a daylight gleam ! 
What mysteries dwell in chambers apart, 

The dearest of friends ne'er dream ! 
What shadowy forms, unknown, unrevealed, 

Within its recesses dwell ! 
What phantoms abide, in secrecy sealed, 

Unbroken by threat or spell ! 



19 



What cankering brood of memories there, 

Oft raise their discordant din, 
In revelry through the lecherous air, 

Half hid in their cowl of sin ! 
What passionate loves, volcanoes of fire, 

Consuming the forms of snow ! 
What spasms of hate, and sordid desires, 

The nearest shall never know ! 

Gay laughter deceives, while inwardly bleed 

Deep wounds, with no sign to show. 
Bndeavor is baffled, trying to read 

The rhymes of its pulsing flow. 
A smile for a smile, a sneer for a sneer, 

Unfathomed the secret sigh. 
Betrayed by a kiss, repelled by a tear, 

And so, undiscerning, die ! 

Tiny burnished circlet 

Of strong and shining gold, . 
Binding hearts together 

With firm and gentle hold. 
Gleams of heaven linger 

Within thy close embrace, 
Like an Kden's sunshine 

With smiles upon its face. 
Dancing on its sunbeams 

In joyous ecstasy, 
Shapeful dreams of beauty 

The magic band sets free. 
Within the charm' d circle 



20 

Of Hymen's golden ring, 
Fairy forms are dancing 

And fairy voices sing ! 
Dwells therein enchantress, 

Whose potent charm and spell 
Changes earth to Heaven 

Or conjures up a Hell ! 
Tiny sparkling circlet 

Of fitful destiny, 
Witching, mystic emblem 

Of veiled eternity ! 

There's a dear little lass that I love, that I love, 
And her eyes are as soft as the eyes of a dove. 
And I wonder the while as she warbles in glee, 
If her heart has a corner devoted to me ; 
She's as sweet as the pea, 

Or the blossoming clover 
Of the carpeted lea. 

And a bee (Ah, the prying young rover ! ) 
Almost stung her red lips 

In his search for a flower. 
There to revel in sips 
From its honey-sweet dower. 

There's a gleam in the depths of her merry brown eyes, 
As she guesses my secret, though feigning surprise. 
Still I wonder the while as she warbles in glee, 
If her heart has a corner devoted to me ; 
She will laugh and will jest 
At my tenderest speeches. 
And if kissed or caressed, 
Of its sinfulness preaches. 



21 



But my fate I must know, 

Though she laughs at my passion ; 
If she loves me I know 

She will alter her fashion ! 



XTb^ Grape 



TO KATE 



I knelt beside thy grave, 

Dear friend of happy days. 
Oh ! Did'st thy spirit hover near, 

And on me, kneeling, gaze ? 
Did'st see the falling tears 

And hear the earnest pray'r ? 
And wert thou pleased that I should come 

To hold communion there ? 

The clouds were dark and gray, 

All wintry was the sky, 
And round about the silent tombs 

The chill winds whistled by. 
No sound of mirth, nor song 

From bird in bush or tree ; 
The frosty breath of voiceless death, 

The wind brought back to me ! 

Amid this silence drear, 

Thy lonely home must be. 
Untouched the chords that once awoke 

To song and minstrelsy. 
I wandered there alone, 

And fain would gaze above 
The clouds that hid from mortal sight, 

The friend I dearly love. 



22 

It could not be. But yet, 

'Tis sweet to know and feel 
That when upon my brow is set 

Death's cold and silent seal, 
We'll meet again, dear friend, 

Where shadows dark and gray, 
Shall roll away before the sun 

Of God's eternal day ! 

XTbe IBcv^clc^ Ibills 

'Twas aeons of aeons ago 

Since Heaven looked down on thy birth, 
Since ocean's residual flow 

Unveiled all the shivering earth. 
Did mortal, with pitying eye. 

Gaze out o'er a desert of land, 
Where moonbeams slid down from the sky, 

To dance on the naked brown sand ? 

Did aught that was human espy 

Thy naked and verdureless breast ? 
Or list to the infantile cry 

Of Nature's emerging unrest ? 
No strain from thy earliest days 

Floats out from the cavernous years, 
In feeblest of echoing lays, 

Assuring our questioning ears. 

We gaze on thy canyons and spires, 

All scatt'ring maturity's seeds, 
And, quivering with vitalized fires, 

Knshowered by Phoebus' steeds. 
His splintering arrows aglow 

He sends to thy leafiest hearts, 
Just glinting the canyons below — 

The foliage prisons the darts. 



23 

Far do,wn iu the purple ravine 

The serpentine rivulets glide, 
And twine in a silvery sheen, 

Half hid in the brush- tangled side. 
Hosannas from proud antlered trees, 

And psalms from the heathery sod, 
Awake in the chorusing breeze 

The mastering presence of God ! 

Thy pyramids, towers and peaks, 

lyike helmeted sentinels stand ; 
Luxuriant sun-setting streaks 

Empurple the turreted band. 
I^ight waves from the flickering day 

Roll up in a nebulous veil 
. Of mist from the languorous bay. 

Enveloping summit and trail ! 

XTb^ Caressing Ibanbs 

Thou 'rt gone from me, and I must tread alone 

My life's appointed way. In light and shade 

A mem'ry lingers on, that cannot fade. 
Thy tender hands that clung unto my own, 
Were mute interpreters of love's sweet tone. 

I know no fear, though far beyond me strayed 

Those tender hands that once upon me laid, 
Will reach me still, and guide through paths unknown 
A mighty calm, subduing all my fears, 

Steals softly from the dark eternal vast, 
And, floating from the pierceless depths of years, 

I feel thy presence like a shadow cast. 
And oft through wild delirium of tears, 

I ve felt thy hand clasp till the tempest passed ! 



24 



H IRicb /IDan's IReverte 

A rich man sat beside his fire, 
And, smiling, rubbed his hands : 

" A lucky year was this for me, 
It brought me gold and lands. 

"I've gold in notes, and gold in bonds. 

In bank, and mortgage, too. 
A wealthy man I sit to-night. 

With all that wealth can do ! " 

Then memr'y came and held her glass 

Before the rich man's eyes, 
And pictured there he saw the past 

From deep oblivion rise. 

There came a woman, young and fair, 

And child of airy grace ; 
While gazing on this youthful love, 

A smile came o'er his face. 

This picture passed and then he saw 

Two cofiins side by side, — 
In one his loved and only child, 

The other held his bride. 

An eager, grasping man he saw 

In Mammon's busy mart. 
Whose quenchless thirst for shining gold 

Had spoiled his better part. 

His fight for gold was fiercely fought, 

Thevict'ry bravely won, — 
What should he care for vanquished foes. 

If fifty, or if one ? 



25 



And yet the rich man shuddered when 

He saw in mem'ry's glass, 
Strong men and women, pale and stark 

In death, before him pass ! 

And others came with glaring eyes, 
Their gestures strange and wild, 

The rich man shrank away from these, 
And trembled like a child. 

But wilder, angrier gleamed their eyes, 

And with revenge athirst, 
They cried, " Your gold is blood! — our blood! 

Our lives ! 'Tis curst ! accursed ! " 

Then mem'ry took her glass away. 

The rich man rose and sighed ; 
''Accursed gold ! how poor am I ! 

So poor ! so poor !" he cried. 

Hutumn 

The leaves are falling one by one, 
Some lie at rest beneath the sun, 
While others on the winds are borne. 
And 'neath the requiem sad and kind, 
Afar their lowly graves they find. 

The trees thus stripped, stand bare and cold, 
Their naked arms no beauty hold. 
The bird's love song no more is told ; 
They fled the touch of winter's hand, 
Bereft of all, the old trees stand. 



2Q 



Thus fall our hopes down one by one, 
Thus fade our joys with summer's sun, 
Thus dies our bloom, when scarce begun, 
With fragrant 3-outh and beauty flown, 
As leafless trees we stand alone. 

This season comes to ev'ry heart, 
When keenly felt is autumn's dart, 
That bids each blossom fair depart. 
But spring must surely come at last — 
Eternal spring, when winter's passed. 

130U 

In the winds that blow from the sun-kissed South, 

I feel the breath of thy rosy mouth. 

When the roses blush as the parting sun 

Gives his farewell kiss when the day is done, 

In the petaled blush of their tinted grace, 

I can see the charms of thy flushing face. 

When the lilies smile 'neath their tears of dew, 

Thro' the crystal ej^es I can gaze at a^ou. 

I can hear thy voice thro' the forest trees, 

And it strangel}^ floats o'er the evening breeze. 

In the ocean's roar when the storm winds blow, 

And in whispered sighs thro' the streamlets flow, 

As the currents tend to the calling sea, 

So my thoughts all glide till they're lost in thee ! 

In the air and sk}^, in the world all through, 

I am blest with visions of 3^ou — but you ! 

And the sweetest chords in an undertone, 

In a singing psalm that is all mine own, 

On a holy wave bear me upward to 

A delightful realm where there's none but you ! 



27 

Ah ! Forever more my awakened soul 
Shall, a captive, kneel to thy sweet control. 
And the purity of thy soul divine 
Shall bestow its color and form to mine. 
In the morning gray, in the noonda}'- glare, 
In the hush of night, an embodied Pray'r 
In thy form enrobed, fills my raptured view, 
Till my world's a glass that reflects but you ! 

/ID15 Soul an^ 5 

In the foremost rank of the hurrying crowd, 

I kept up the pace of the swift and proud. 

All my thoughts were bound to the passionate throng, 

And borne through the busiest years along. 

A most willing serf, in a slavery sweet, 

Untouched by the curse of the laggard's feet. 

Like a rainbow sun that encircles the skies, 

The future shone out thro' prismatic dyes. 

By a wave of pain from the ocean of grief. 
My hopes were all stranded on sorrow's reef. 
And I watched the crowd in their hurry go by. 
While sitting alone — but my soul and I. 
For the world draws back from the tempest of tears, 
That rouses the rumbling of answering fears, 
And it turns in dread, from the harrowing moan. 
That shadows its joys with a haunting tone. 

As I sat alone for a wearisome while, 
My soul looked at me with a patient smile. 
With a softened glow of such infinite grace. 
Half veiling its sorrowful, pallid face. 



28 

" We're alone at last ! " was its ecstasied cry. 
"Alone ! and together — but you and I, 
IIow I've longed for this, with such exquisite pain 
Through tedious years, till it seemed in vain ! 

•' 'Tis a blessed grief that relinquishes thee 
To thoughtful communion alone with m.e. 
You will heed me now, while together alone, 
And for past injustice, perchance atone. 
I have called in vain thro' the hurrying years, 
Have called in a frenzy of tortured fears ; 
You were deaf to all of my agonized cries, 
And blind to the woe of my tear-stained eyes. 

" While you rushed along in your maddening race, 
With never a glance at my pleading face, 
And the mocking laugh of the phantoms that flee, 
Seemed dearer to you than a smile from me. 
The delusive glow of a languorous ease 
Deceitfully shines from your phantasies, 
But they melt away in your pitiful clasp, 
Eluding derisively every grasp. 

" You are held in thrall by this vapory crew, 

And I — am I nothing at all to you ? 

As you court the crowds of tumultuous care, 

You seem to forget I am with you there. 

And my weary voice that you scarcely can tell, 

Must die in a desolate wailing knell. 

Must it ever be undivided from 5^ou ? 

And yet have no voice in the things you do ? 

•' Must I meekly yield to captivity's chains. 
Inviting the lash of the victor's reins? 
And supinely follow to tyranny's rule, 
Till I, who am master, become the tool ? 



29 



Must a master bow to a menial's control, 
Accepting the smite of the scourge as dole, 
That is tribute meet for a slave who will crawl, 
Abased, thro' the bitterest pools of gall. 

" Ah — it must not be ! for divided we die ! 
But blending together— just you and I, 
In a blessed psalm all the harmonied years, 
Attuned to the music of choired spheres. 
Shall float along with such infinite zest, 
Till gathered together on Zion's breast. 
'Tis a blessed grief that has carried my cry, 
Forever uniting us — you and I ! " 

As my soul thus spoke to my innermost sense, 
Kach lethargic thought was aroused and tense. 
Till the past arose in a cumulus cloud 
And hung o'er the years like the winter's shroud. 
All the harrowed years unproductive and bare, 
That blinded my eyes with their barren glare. 
And I blest the grief and the torturing sigh 
That brought us together, — my soul and I. 

Ube Stream ot %iU 

Murmuring, prattling, gliding along. 

Merrily splashing the rocks in the sun, 
Drops of crystal from purling rills 

To the flowing river eagerly run, 
I^eaving the sylvan shady retreat, 
Seeking the river with flying feet, 
I,onging to flow with the glistening throng, 
And raise their voice in jubilant song. 



30 



Splashing, dashing, rushing along, 

Joyously seeking the wonderful sea, 
Rushing onward the river goes 

To the mighty ocean, boundless and free, 
Longing to burst its narrow confines. 
Longing to greet the noisy waves. 
And join the sea that surges and raves. 

Roaring, raging, tossing aloft 

Ponderous arms in the mighty affray ; 

Rushing onward in ocean's war, 

Dash the battling waves in martial array. 

Murmuring drops from cry si aline rills — 

Briniest woe each crj^stal heart fills. 

For captive still to fatal decree. 

They, shivering, moan in the boundless sea. 



%CQcn^ ot tbe Jessamine 

All through Jerusalem's scented air. 

Blossoms just newly born, 
Sprung up luxuriant everywhere, 

E'en on Good Friday morn. 

A host of beautiful flowers gaze 

Up to the morning sun, 
Unconscious that e'er its setting rays, 

Sorrow should blight each one. 

The cross was raised, and the Saviour hung, 

Dying in agony, 
Until his voice, in a shiver rung, 

Echoed o'er Calvary. 



31 



The sun in terror the world forsook, 

Shocked at the Saviour's cr}^ 
The grieving earth to its centre shook, 

Watching the Saviour die. 

A midnight cloud o'er the city fell, 

Fell in a pall of dread. 
The trembling earth, in a moaning knell, 

Wailed till his spirit fled. 

When all was o'er and the clouds had fled, - 

Fled like a thunder's rain. 
Each bud and blossom was crushed and dead, 

Withered by fright and pain. 

But one sweet flower hid its anguished heart 

Under its humid leaf, 
And softly wept at each piercing dart, — 

Wept in a silent grief. 

The sad-faced jessamine's blossoms flew 

Up to the sombre light. 
Their glowing petals of pinkish hue 

Changed to a snowy white. 




32 



(3t\>e tbp %ovc flow 

In this toilsome world of pain 
There are loving hearts and true, 

But they pass through mist and rain, 
Longing for a word from you ; 

Yet, you love them well, I know — 

Why not tell them so ? 

If you love them let them know; 

Let your heart in tenderness 
Through your loving language flow 

With a gentle, soft caress. 
Tell them, kissing cheek and brow. 
Tell it to them now ! 

Shall thy wealth of love unknown 
Waste in grieved rebuking tears 

On the chiseled icy stone 

Oe'r their grave in later years ? 

Bless with love their living brow. 

Give it to them now ! 

They won't heed your weeping love 
When they lie within the tomb, 

Where the grasses wave above, 
Through the loneliness and gloom 

Let the joy of love's soft vow 

Make them happy now ! 

Do not hide sweet thoughts away, 
Teeming with affection's flame, 

Hearts are thirsting all the day, 
Craving love to breathe their name 

If you love them let them know, — 

Softly tell them so ! 



33 



Xlttle XTbinas 

Little things are the test of man, 
Day by day till the lengthened years 

Count us out the allotted span. 
Day by day the little fears 
Raise a storm of rebellious tears. 

Poets sing of heroes great, 

Weaving names in immortal song, 

Instruments in the hand of fate. 
Not a line for the one gone wrong, 
Forced o'er roads that are rough and long. 

Dreaming dreams that no waking brings, 
Years fly by while they hope and wait, 

Held in bond by the " little things." 
Hoping on till the day grows late, 
Meeting all at the " shining gate ! " 

Few are kissed by a smiling fate, 
Few are marked for immortal fame. 

All can strive for a record great. 

All can carve for themselves a name. 
Traced on high with a pen of flame ! 

'Neath the frown of relentless fate, 
Sink not down to a coward's place ! 

Duty makes all thy actions great, 
Scanning them with approving face. 
When they're done with a patient grace. 

Better far than the laurel crown, 

Is the crown from the King of kings. 

Sweeter far than the earth's renown, 
Is the song that God's choir sings 
To the faithful in little things ! 



34 

MetgbiUG tbe 3Bab^ 

I'll never forget the morning 

We weighed our baby, Ray, 
Myself and the nurse and doctor, 

While mother watched us weigh. 
It glowed like a pink narcissus 

A-blooming in the glen. 
We watched till the squirming blossom 

Brought down the scale to ten ! 

Then mother looked up so joyful, 

And softly smiled to me. 
The doctor took ofif his glasses, 

As proud as proud could be. 
And I was so proud and happy 

I hardly dared to speak, 
As gently I kissed its mother 

Upon her snow-white cheek. 

To-day we have weighed the baby, 

Our only daughter, Ray, 
And mother and I were watching, 

Her lover stooped to weigh, 
And both of us were so happy 

To see our darling thrive, 
Real proud when the scale was tilted 

At one — and twenty-five ! 

A feeling of strange new sadness 

Stole over me while there, 
A loss which was felt, 5^et nameless, 

Would linger round the pair. 
In fancy I saw the baby 

A- wriggling to and fro, 
The same as it did that morning. 

Just twenty years ago. 



35 



'' XTbe ©It), ©lb Stor^ " 

They kept time with their wandering feet 
To the rhymes of the musical surf, 

While the silvery moon swept too fleet 
O'er the beach and its water-soaked turf. 

In the suavest of accents he told 
Of the love that illumined his heart. 

And he whispered the story so old, 
With the acme of Cupid's fine art. 

Thus they wandered a fortnight or more 
In the shadowy hours of the night. 

And together discoursed of the lore, 
That is never insipid nor trite. 

And they vowed as they studied the stars, 
That for life they'd be constant and true. 

In his veins was the valor of Mars 
To surmount all objections in view. 

Ah, their parting was sad as could be ! 

And a tempest of heart-breaking tears 
Broke the rhymes of the rythmical sea. 

Till it shrieked out its agonized fears. 

It was years since they met by the sea; 

It was years since their tragic farewell. 
And they met once again by the sea. 

In the lapse of a twenty years' spell. 

Still the sea sung its musical rhymes 
To the splash of its crystaline spray, 

As it had in the love-stricken times 

When they walked by the moon's fickle ray. 



36 

She had turned, half intending to flee, 

But he rushed in a boyish surprise, 
And they stood by the rythmical sea 

With a quizzical light in their eyes. 

There they talked for a moment or more, 

Of the moon and malarial turf, 
And conversed in the tritest of lore, 

Of the dampness and cold of the surf. 

Till he turned to a maiden and said: 

" Here's my daughter, my sweet little Pearl." 

Then she flushed up the rosiest red — 

" Mine are twins, here's the boy and the girl." 

Mbat Sball J Sim ^ 

" Sing me a song ! ' ' Said a maiden to me, 
As I t05^ed with the chords in a dream. 
" Tell me, " I said, " what my song is to be; 
You must choose for the singer a theme." 
Flushed as the rose on Aurora's bright wing, 

In a voice like the coo of a dove. 
Answered me low, " Let the singer then sing 
Of the wonderful power of love." 

" Sing me a song ! " Said a young Hercules, 
Through a mist of white ringleted smoke; 
" Choose me a theme that your fancy will please," 
And I waited awhile ere he spoke. 
Soft was the gleam in his bonny brown eyes, 
As he gazed on the quivering rings, 
" Sing me," he said, with the faintest of sighs, 
' ' Of true love, as a true lover sings ! ' ' 

" Sing us a song ! " Said a gray-headed sire, 
As he sat by the side of his dame. 



37 

" What shall I sing? — Of the warrior's fire, 

Till it tingles thy blood with its flame ? ' ' 
" Nay, not of war, nor its turbulent strife, 
But a theme that is far, far above; 
Sing," — and he stroked the white hair of his wife- 
" Thou shalt sing us a song full of love ! " 

In the dim and misty twilight 
'Tis sweet to sit and dream, 
'Tis the hour to hold communion 
With souls across the stream. 

They will linger in the shadows 

That follow dying day ; 
They will make us feel their presence, 

By weird and thrilling sway. 

They will soothe our heart in anguish, 

And bring a peaceful calm, 
All the weary tumult ceasing 

Beneath the heav'nly balm. 

Then we feel the peaceful beauty 

Of heaven, earth and sky. 
Then we feel that God has made us 

For something grand and high. 

And our weary, weary struggles 

All seem to flit away. 
As we sit and dream at twilight 

Beneath the shadows gray. 

All the stormy, angry feelings 
That turned our thoughts away 

From our kind and heavenly Father, 
Now vanish with the day. 



38 

And from out the shadows cometh 

A peace beyond compare, 
Such a peace the heart ne'er findeth 

In worldly show and glare. 

In our heart there springs a yearning 

For holy, purer things, 
And a pray'r, tho' half unconsciouSj 

Its healing balsam brings. 

When the twilight gray has faded 

And stars are shining bright, 
We arise refreshed and strengthened, 

With heart all pure and light. 

And again return to duties 

That seemed so hard to-day, 
But our twilight dream has banished 

Rebellious thoughts away. 

Ube ipassion fflower 

Oh, flower lowly ! 

In whispers holy, 
That speakest with a wondrous art 
Of marvels hid within thy heart ; 
Of vict'ry gained by martyr's loss, — 
The wondrous story of the cross. 
Thou breathest to the wondering air, 
The glowing truths in thy bosom fair, 

Oh, glowing story ! 

The Christian's glory ! 
Whose nails, and wounds, and thorny crown. 
Have smoothed Jehovah's angry frown. 



39 



Reminders of a pagan past, 
The cross of Christ has overcast ; 
That tells how God's anathema broke 
Beneath the gush of the hammer's stroke ! 

Thou peerless flower 

Of richest dower ! 
The dearest legend mortal weaves, 
Is writ upon thy storied leaves; 
Is traced upon thy open heart 
In penciled gleams of matchless art ! 
Thus chosen by the infinite hand 
To reign high priest of the floral band ! 

Uo Xetitla 

I sing of a winsome maiden, 

Warm-hearted, loyal and true, 
With tresses of amber sunshine, 

And eyes of Orient's blue. 
A face that is warm and loving, 

All flushed with modesty's glow; 
And wit that is bright and brilliant, 

lyike sparkling wine in its flow. 

A mouth with its trove of treasure, 

Would win a saint to consent, 
Yet pure as the flame of Vesta, 

That makes a sinner repent. 
Tho' void of all that's artful, 

She's full of womanly art, 
And teems with bewitching graces, 

That conquer every heart. 



40 



Her thoughts like the rose's dreaming, 

All glistening in showers of love, 
Are pure as the tears of crystal, 

That fall from fountains above. 
She fosters no jealous feelings. 

To blight her maidenly charms, 
But thrills with a noble purpose, 

That envy's arrow disarms. 

Oh, maid of the sunny tresses. 

And eyes of Orient's blue ! 
Wilt thou thro' the untried future 

Be ever as loyal and true ? 
When time with his frosty fingers 

Shall twine us garlands of snow. 
May love touch the chastened meshes, 

And leave his lingering glow ! 

Hushed is daylight's busy hum. 
Lo, what orisoned dreams may come ! 
Gliding shapes of perfumed light 
Through the vaporous, wreathed night ! 
Soft as poet's waving theme. 
Fair as opium-tinted dream, 
Plaintively their rustling wings 
Sigh in circling rings. 

Through the evening's dreamy glow, 
Watching Sirius dipping low, 
Gazing on scintellant forts, 
Flashing out in the starry courts. 



41 



Whispers o'er the spirit creep, — 
Voiceless shades from the realm of sleep; 
Psychic shades of astral light, 
Born of weeping night. 

I^abor folds its weary hands, 
Freed awhile from their iron bands; 
In the cerements of night, 
Soars to spheres of celestial light. 
Parching drinks from hallowed streams 
Subtly scenting the land of dreams; 
Vital springs whose gleaming ray 
Vanishes at day ! 

Yet, alas ! night's starry veil 
Covers many a hidden wail; 
Falls on some who seek not sleep, 
Some that sorrow, and some that weep; 
Some that pine in solitude, 
Some that revel in boist'rous mood. 
So the undercurrents glide, 
Rippling life's still tide ! 

St /IDar^'9 

To the beautiful city that nestles 

At the foot of the purple hills, 
Where the flowers like whispering spirits, 

All the quietude softly fills; 
I oft turn to the solacing shelter, 

For a respite from crowding care, 
From the world and its dizzying tumult, 

To the calm of this passive air. 



42 



In the mansions of costliest marble, 

That are marvels of sculptured art, 
There are names o'er the portals encarven, 

That are dear to my burdened heart. 
But no welcome greeting is wafted 

Through the portals of polished stone; 
There is naught but the winds as they flutter 

O'er my face in a plaintive moan. 

Is it fancy ? or does the wind kiss me, 

As it mournfully passes by ? 
Do their voices float out in its whispers, 

With the wings of a living sigh ? 
Do they send this soft calm of such sweetness 

To my world-weary, tortured breast, 
As it passes in magical healing. 

In a wave of exquisite rest ? 

As I mingle again in the bustle 

Of the worrying world close by, 
I am full of a passionate yearning 

In the home of my youth to die. 
In this beautiful city, St. Mary's, 

On a sunny and cloudless day, 
On the hillside beneath the warm sunshine, 

'Tis my wish to be laid away. 



Ube proposal 

Ah, well do I remember 

Our stroll by the stream, my dear. 
That evening in September, 

The happiest of the year ! 



43 



While in the moonlight straying, 
And watching the wavelets dance, 

Some idle whispered saying 

Made both of us upward glance. 

When each caught a secret rushing 
From out of the other's eyes, 

Both stood confused and flushing 
In glad and amazed surprise. 

You softly whispered * ' Darling ! ' ' 
And folded me to your breast. 

I flew as flies a starling ' 
Into its beloved nest ! 

Your face aglow with love-light, 

Was radiant in its bliss, 
As in the silv'ry moonlight 

You gave me your first sweet kiss. 

That instant life grew dearer, 

More precious than mines of gold ! 

We both felt Heaven nearer. 

That night when our love was told ! 

Ah, me ! the years are flitting 
lyOw down in the western sky, 

I wonder o'er my knitting 

If backward your thoughts will fly, 

lyike mine, to oft remember 

The stream and the night, my dear, 
And bless that far September, 

The happiest of the year ? 




44 

Ube Blue anb (3ra^ 

DECORATION DAY, 1891 

Two clover-strewn mounds in a graveyard lie 
'Neath a stone that tells to the passer by, 
Two brothers are resting there side by side, 
In the first full flush of their manhood's pride. 

Together they lie in a peaceful rest, 
With a sabre wound in each faithful breast ; 
But one wears the blue, and his cruel scars 
Are beneath the folds of the stripes and stars. 

The other is tenderly laid away 

In a worn Confederate suit of gray. 

Together opposed in the battle's gore, 

In the arms of death they're at peace once more. 

Bombarding has ceased and the clouds are passed, 
That the belching cannon and mortars cast. 
Together in peace side by side they lie, 
With their faces turned to the calm, blue sky. 

One mother loved both, but oh, who dare say 
That she loved him least who had died in gray ? 
Bach felt he was right, — they were both so brave, 
And they lie at rest in a soldier's grave. 

Espousing the cause that his heart thought right, 
Could she love him least who had lost the fight ? 
Was one to her dearer ? Ah, who can say, 
As her hot tears fall o'er the blue and gray ! 

The trenches that reeked with their riddled prize. 
Have been smoothed away from our sickened eyes, 
And little is left but the mem'r}^ now, 
And the pledge redeemed by the soldier's vow. 



45 

Their memory floats from the grief-rent years, 
And in glory shines through the mist of tears. 
Their spirits released from the azured sphere, 
In the cloud waves float till they seem quite near ; 

In shadows that startle and shrink away 
O'er the lonely graves where we bend to-day, 
Where garlands are laid on the soldier's grave. 
And our flowers strewn o'er the nation's brave. 

A union of love shall be sung to-day 
As our blossoms blend o'er the blue and gray ; 
The message of love on their fragrant breath 
Shall in whispers steal through the mold of death. 

The sanctified incense they gently bear, 

Shall enwrap the dead in a hallowed pray'r. 

Recorded on high by the angel's pen. 

While the blue and the gray sing a grand ' 'Amen ! 

In pity and love let us breathe a sigh 
For the nameless graves 'neaththe southern sky; 
Their loneliness thrills through our hearts to-day 
As we deck the graves of the blue and gray. 

The blue and gray that forgotten lie 
With their faces turned to a foreign sky ; 
A pitying tear for the noble brave 
In Confederate trench and in Union grave. 

Rest, rest there in peace ! all ye martyred slain, 
Undisturbed b}' the phantoms of hate and pain ; 
Grim spectres that slunk from the battle's roar 
To the dismal shades of Plutonia's shore. 

Together ye fell 'neath the battle's pall. 
And together still shall our blossoms fall. 
All hatreds have died with the cannon's breath, 
And the pledge of peace is the dove of Death. 



46 



One motlier loves both, and oh, who shall say 
She must love him least who has died in gray ? 
To-day, o'er their graves as her hot tears fall, 
Must she love him least who has lost his all ? 

Nay, nay ! who can sound with the subtlest art 
To the deepest depths of a mother's heart, 
While loving the blue is there one dare say 
She could turn from him in his suit of gray ? 

Together they crossed in the lurid air 
To the realm of death, by the bat'ry's glare ; 
And there our grand army of noble dead 
Are awaiting us with their bivouac spread. 

H^Meu— ^^ Uo Gob " 

TO MISS JOSIE WOODWARD 

" A-dieu ! " A wave of mournful sadness 

Floats out in the wailing knell, 
But cleaves a rift of holy gladness, 

To brighten its sombre spell. 
To God! To God ! " in full completeness, 

We pledge thee in soft "A-dieu ! " 
Adieu ! Adieu ! " — Oh, balm of sweetness, 

Distilled from the dregs of rue ! 

"To God! To God ! " The bitter parting 
Is soothed by the sweet refrain; 

And breaking hearts with anguish smarting 
Can smile through their tears of pain; 

And gazing upward see the glory- 
That shines through the cloud of tears, 

Where sun- wrapped angels weave life's story, 
A crown for the coming years. 



u 



(( 



47 



Oh tender word, so fraught with sorrow, 

With passionate tears and sighs, 
Yet sweetest word that friend can borrow, 

And murmur with tear-dimmed eyes ! 
Adieu ! Adieu ! May naught ere sever 

The prayer that it breathes for you. 
'' To God ! To God ! " Forever, ever, 

Floats out with my last Adieu ! 

Uo Florence 

lyittle maid ! Little maid ! 

Thou'rt fair as a morning in May; 
A rosebud by Phoebus caressed, 

Unfolding thy heart to his ray. 
Thou'rt fresh as the down on the breast 

Of lilies at opening of day; 
Thy presence is fragrant with love. 
As winsome and true as a dove. 

Little maid ! Little maid ! 

Thy soul through thy delicate face, 
Shines out with an exquisite glow, 

Like flame through a Parian vase. 
As purity's thoughts from it flow 

In flashes of luminant grace. 
Impassioned and dark are thine eyes. 
Yet pure as the violet's sighs. 

Little maid ! Little maid ! 

'Tis not in thine hair nor thine eyes, 
The secret of power we find; 

The charm of thy loveHness lies 



48 



In all of thy graces of mind, 

And beams from thy innocent eyes 
In artless enamoring youth, 
Distilling the perfume of truth. 

lyittle maid ! lyittle maid ! 

No lily bells sparkling with dew, 
And trembling with kisses of night, 

Are sweeter or fairer than you. 
Sweet rosebud ! Unfolding in light. 

In promising loveliness too ! 
The beauties the rosebud enclose, 
Shall beam from the heart of the rose ! 

XTbe Dunce 

lyike a bud on a broken stem, 

A little maiden sat, 
While she studied the ragged hem 

Around the carpet mat. 
For the proud little eyelids fell 

Before the smiling school, 
And she dared not look up at Nell, 

From off the dunce's stool. 

For bright Nell was a despot stern, 

And flashed an angry flame 
On the sister that would not learn, 

But sat in silent shame. 
For 'twas very vexatious that 

Of all within that school, 
It was she who the oftenest sat 

Upon the dunce's stool. 



49 



But this maid of the downcast eyes 

Was winsome, good and true, 
And the mortified tears would rise 

In spite of all she'd do; 
And she wished with a yearning heart, 

To master text and rule, 
For she longed to be wise and smart. 

And loathed the dunce's stool. 

O'er her studies she sat perplext, 

For through them all there' d be 
The refrain of the song bird's text, 

Their ''Tralgila, la /^." 
And her lessons would always run 

Into a rippling trill, 
I^ike the birds of the forest spun. 

Absorbing all her will. 

But she gazed in admiring pause 

Upon her sister Nell, 
Who could talk of the Solon laws. 

And how the empire fell, 
And recite with a scholar's tact, 

The way the world began. 
Not forgetting the smallest fact 

Back to the fall of man. 

" Oh, I wish I was smart like Nell ! " 

She often, often sighed; 
Then her head in despondence fell. 

The while she sobbed and cried. 
Then her books all aside she'd throw, 

In tearful heedless ease, 
And in glowing defiance, go 

To seek the shady trees, — 



50 



To the woods where the maples grew 

In neighborly content; 
Where the birds through the branches flew 

In greetings exultant. 
She would answer each warbler's song 

In playful mimicry, 
And she learned of the forest throng, 

Sweet nature's symphony. 

She would call to the lark and thrush, 

So perfectly and clear, 
They responded from out the brush, 

And hastened to draw near. 
They would answer each perfect note, 

lyike little feathered elves, 
As though she, of the snowy throat, 

Was bird, just like themselves ! 

She could study the mocking bird 

And learn its varied trill, 
And the tremolos softly heard 

In plaintive whip-poor-will. 
For the forest birds' sj^mphonies 

Were lessons she loved full well. 
And the text from the maple trees 

Oft startled sober Nell. 

But the years set the captives free. 

And broke the routine spell; 
All the honors of high degree 

Were won by honest Nell. 
But no mention nor parchment prize 

The little maiden won, 
Tho' she laughed in glad surprise. 

To think that school was done. 



51 



All the marvelous gems of thought 

To mark her brilliancy, 
Were the gems from the forest brought,- 

Her "Trala/a, la /<? ! " 
And she poured out her heart in song. 

Just like a bird set free, 
And the echo was borne along, 

Awak'ning Destiny ! 

Till the voice of her genius flew 

Upon the waves of time, 
And the homage of nations drew 

To hear her tones sublime. 
And the text of the feathered tribe 

From out the maple trees. 
Was the text she did transcribe. 

And waft across the seas. 

Of the class that was scattered far 

Through cities, seas and town. 
There rose but a single star 

Of luminous renown. 
And the strangest of all is that 

The glory of that school 
Was the scholar who oftenest sat 

Upon the dunce's stool. 

Xoutse (SouQ) 

I know thy heart is mine alone, 
For love speaks forth in every tone. 
The swiftly rising flush I see, 
That tells a message dear to me. 



52 



Oh, who would think such haughty pride 
Within that gentle soul could hide ? 
I thought thy words but meant to tease, 
Nor wronged thee with a doubt, Louise ! 
In pain I hear the mournful knell. 
That bids to love and thee — farewell ! 

Louise ! Louise ! why grieve me so ? 
And crush my heart in bitter woe ! 
My every thought is but for thee, 
Louise, so false to love and me ! 

I know that in the scenes so gay 
Some mem'ries from the past will stray; 
Perchance regretful thoughts arise. 
And tears bedim thy lustrous eyes. 
Such moments may to thee be rife 
With pity for the shattered life, 
So coldly crushed with treach'rous ease 
By thee, my loved, my lost Louise ! 
A broken life for ever more, — 
An empty shell upon the shore! 

tsrsjB-'tsrsjB- 

Do mot ffret 

' Tis a very good rule, my man, 
As the path of your duty's trod, 
That you labor the best you can, 
And then leave all the rest to God ! 
It is useless to fume and fret, 
And be gnawed by a vain regret, 
Till it spoils like^a hungry moth. 
The fine web of your life's best cloth. 
Do the best you can, my man, 
And do not fret. 



53 



You can dig up the soil and plow 

By the sweat of your earnest brow ; 

You can harrow and plant and sow, 

But you never can make it grow. 

From the promise within the seed, 

You may reap but an ugly weed ; 

Yet you labored the best, my man, you can, 

And must not fret. 

You must labor your very best. 

Then with God you may leave the rest ; 

He will prosper the toiler's art, 

And the work of a willing heart. 

When you sow all your daily deeds. 

As a farmer sows his seeds, 

In the very best way you can, my man, 

You need not fret ! 

pretty 1Rell 

As I went through the dell, 

One morning last May, 
There I met a fair belle 

A-walking my way. 
And we talked as we walked, 

Half earnest, half gay. 
As we went through the dell. 

One morning in May. 

Oh, the birds from each tree, 

Were pouring their song ! 
And we noted their glee, 

While walking along. 



54 

Till I chose to propose — 
Ah, sure was it wrong ?- 

And she answered to me 
A syllable song ! 

Just a word, in the dell, 

One glorious day, 
From the beautiful belle 

A-walking my way ! 
Oh, the bliss of that kiss 

Shall ne'er die away, 
When I won pretty Nell, 

That morning in Ma3\ 

Just a word, that I heard, 
That morning in May, 

From my Nell, in the dell, 
A-walking my way ! 



t5?S-C''rK%i«2' 



Ube Hccounting 

There lived, not many years ago, 
A poet who would not be " slow. " 

His songs were many, — ev'ry one 
To love and passion gave a tongue. 

He sought to carve himself a name; 
His heart, his soul, he gave to fame. 

'Twas not in vain; she crowned him king, 
And o'er the earth his praises ring. 

The poet died, — to reck'ning called, 
Before his judge he stood appalled. 

No praises then; no loving word; 
But questions stern the poet heard: 



55 



" I gave thee genius ! Can'st recall 
Some good thou didst for great or small ? 

" One soul that's saved ; one heart made pure ; 
One weakling strengthened to endure ? 

"■ Much chance thou had'st. Come, tell me now 
Which piece has saved a soul, — and how ? 

' ' Thou dost not answer, — how is this ? 
No piece of thine has caused such bliss ! 

" Among the lost thou' It take thy place, 
Didst not a thousand souls find grace 

* ' In written book or song of thine, 
That 'mongst the sons of men did shine. 

' ' A thousand souls all hope have lost 
Through works of thine, — a fearful cost ! 

' ' Thy smoothly flowing words a crust, 
Beneath which hid the demon — lust ! 

' ' A thousand souls thou must regain. 
Or get thee hence with demon train ! " 

*' Have mercy, thou ! " the poet cried, 
" For fame I worked, for praise I tried ; 

** The sons of men they gave me both, 
To censure them I now am loth. 

*' They told me as I mounted high'r, 
My pen was dipped in heav'nly fire ! " 

' ' Ah, sinful hearts, they knew full well 
Thy pen was dipped in fire of hell ! 

" 'Tis justice now, no mercy pray ; 
Begone ! With imps and lustful stay ! ' ' 



56 



%OVC 



Oh, love doth wield a magic power, 
Surpassing every art ! 
All would know it, 
All would feel it, 
Though striving to conceal it ! 
Each claimant deems the dower 
The birthright of his heart ! 

'Tis all that life holds worth the living ; 
'Tis all that 's held in death ;— 
Life's best pleasure, 
Death's best measure, 
The saint and sinner's treasure ; 
The recompense worth giving 
For mortal's transient breath ! 



'tssjD-'srSbai' 

Ube ffortune 

'' Tell me my fortune, please ! " 
Said a pretty maid to me, 
Under the walnut trees. 
As we idled lazily; 
Stretching a hand both slender and fair, 
That I might read what was written there. 



" Fate has been good and kind, 
And a choice has given thee. 
Listen with all thy mind, 

As she pictures them to me ! ' ' 
Deeply I gazed with studious art, 
In palm as pink as the sea shell's heart. 



57 



" Here is a mansion grand 
In a land beside the sea, 
Proud in its queenly stand 
As a carved Kuphrosyne. 
Sweet is the breath of odorous air, 
That rushes up o'er the marble stair. 

" Love has no dwelling place 
In this palace by the sea; 
Gazing with shadowed face, 
Two sad eyes look out at me. 
Frowningly gleam, like prisoner's bars. 
The white facades and the sculptured stars. 

" Buried beneath a smile, 
Lie the ashes of a heart, 
Wond'ring the weary while 
How it plays its empty part. 
Mirrored in all so beautiful there, 
I see the tears that her lashes wear. 

" Here is a cottage plain, 

Where the clamb'ring roses cling. 
Shaking their perfumed rain 
From each flying petaled wing. 
In the old oaks the robins are heard 
So loud, each leaf seems a twitt'ring bird. 

" Sweet as the scented air 

That is whispering Cupid's lore, 
Stands a young matron fair 
At the open cottage door, 
Watching a form whose hurrying pace 
Brings love's soft light to the watching face. 

" Two little eyes await. 

With impatient eagerness, 



58 

Down by the garden gate, 
For the evening's fond caress. 
Over the path they beckon and call, 
And love's sweet happiness shelters all. 

" Fortune has traced for me, 

In thy penciled palm so true, 
Shapes of thy destiny 

That are in thy fortunes two." 
Pressing the hand that lay in mine, — 
' ' Now tell which one wilt thou choose for thine ? ' ' 

Into the eyes of blue, 

Stole a shade of deep unrest; 
Up from the heart so true, 
Soared the whisper, " I^ove is best ! " 
Smiling, she said with face all aglow — 
"I'm glad that my fortune was told me so." 

/iDemones 

A myriad host from their chamber barred, 
Defyingly rush past their startled guard, 
Aroused by the voice of a buried theme, 
Or woke by a hand from a broken dream; 
They come in the night of our loneliness. 
With curses that scorch or with smiles that bless. 

The touch of a hand that is cold and still, 
Has power to rouse a responsive thrill. 
An innocent smile, or a saddened tear. 
Will call up a joy or a shadowed fear, 
And in the still watch of a night alone 
We linger with forms to the world unknown. 



59 



The passionate kiss of a love once known, 
In memory lives when the love has flown. 
Though whispering a bliss, or a moaned regret, 
Once touched by its breath, we can ne'er forget; 
And whether it be for our woe or weal, 
That kiss shall forever be mem'ry's seal. 

We dwell with the loves of a bygone past, 
Perchance by the clouds of a hate o'ercast, 
Yet who would refuse the resplendent dyes, 
That flash from the depths of mem'ry's eyes ? 
Or barter the joys of a vanished tone, 
That memory whispers to us alone ? 

Dl^mn to St 5osepb 

Oh, blessed St. Joseph ! 

Kind patron of youth, 
And pattern paternal 

Of wisdom and truth. 
We humbly beseech thee. 

Look tenderly down. 
And bless with thy favor 

This amaranth crown. 

Thou chosen of David, 

Whose blossoming rod 
Miraculous proved thee 

Predestined of God ; 
Our lady's protector 

And virginal spouse, 
Pure guardian trusted 

With purity's vows. 



60 



The Bethlehem's manger 

Thy gentle hands pressed, 
And fashioned the Saviour 

A cradle of rest. 
Low brushed in thy worship 

By angel's soft wings, 
More blessed than the angels, 

More favored than kings. 

Wise refuge that guided 

From treachery's blight. 
The babe and its mother 

Through Egypt's sad flight. 
Most favored of parents ! 

By Heaven's decree 
A God in subjection, 

Relying on thee ! 

Thrice blest thy commission 

Of teacher most mild, 
Adoring instructor 

Of Israel's child ! 
Thy name shall forever 

With Mary's entwine. 
And blend with the splendor 

Of Jesus divine ! 

Oh, teach us to worship 

The Saviour divine, 
With tender devotion 

As faithful as thine \ 
Like thee may we pillow 

Our head on his breast, 
Life's mission completed, 

Dissolving in rest ! 



61 

ffatlure 

Disheartened soul, arise ! Why grievest thou ? 

Miscarried schemes and plans, so fraught with woe, 

Serve purposes that God alone doth know. 

A hidden strength rests on thy smited brow; 

Then swift respond, nor weakly falter now. 

To cease all struggle in despairing throe, 

Is to relinquish God, thy crown forego ! 

Up ! Up, brave heart, and though afflictions bow 

Thy soul unto the dust, endure for this ! 

Despair thou not with sacrilegious thought. 

Because thy heart's ambitions go amiss. 

Kach battled failure shines a brilliant gem 

Within the crucible of suffering wrought. 

Each needful for the victor's diadem. 

ffattb is Best 

Ah, there's much we'd like to know 
Of things beyond our learning, 

How we came, and whence we go, 
And shall there be returning ? 

Shall we meet loved friends at last — 

When death is past ? 

There are sages wise, deployed, 

To prove the Bible story 
But a myth to be destroyed, 

And offer us the history 
Of the * ' evolution ' ' cry, ' 
To faith supply ! 

Thus they sweep old truths away 
And modern fancies give us. 



62 



While they take our prop and stay, 

All weak and helpless leave us 
In the shoreless sea of doubt, 
To float about ! 

' Tis unwise to doubt and fear. 
To search in useless seeking ! 

I^et's believe the word we've here, 
Our vain endeavor ceasing. 

It brings naught but dire unrest ! 

Ah, faith is best ! 

{^^ %ovc ant) J 

We loved each other, my love and I, 
In greeting smiles and the parting sigh. 
We watched the days drag slowly by. 
And eagerly watched for the wonderful one, 
Whose magical hours would merrily run 
Beneath a never setting sun. 

Oh, happy we, when it came at last. 

And Hymen's chain bound us close and fast ! 

We kissed the fetters round us cast. 

And vowed we would rather be bonded than free. 

I was his, he lived but for me. 

Oh, chain of sweetest slavery ! 

Our days ran on in the golden light. 

And every one was serene and bright. 

From months to years unclouded quite. 

Until we grew tired, — then our world seemed so 

small — 
How could we have thought 'twas happy at all ? 
Oh, bitter chain then steeped in gall ! 



63 



We grew tired of days that were dull and gray, 

That came and went in the self same way, 

And left us naught to tell or say. 

We grew tired of each other and flew from our nest; 

Society's hands we clasped and carest, — 

Through merry pathways gaily prest, — 

Until one day in the giddy whirl, 

Misfortune came, like an ugly churl, 

To round us both his lash unfurl. 

We called to our friends, but as lightning they sped. 

Nor stopped in their flight, but onward they fled, 

As if pursued by a spectre dread. 

Our hearts were sore in their aching pain, 
And life was drenched in a bitter rain. 
My love and I alone again; 
Together alone in that terrible hour, 
We bravely endured the pitiless show'r, 
And love resumed its glowing pow'r. 

We homeward turned to our cosy nest, 

And never yearned for the truant guest, 

But dearly prized its tranquil rest. 

Oh, warm are our hearts, and contented are we ! 

The furnace of pain all our follies set free, 

And closer bound my love to me. 




64 

H Bell 

There's a bell in heaven rings, 
In the twilight, soft and gray; 

To and fro it gently swings, 
As the daylight fades away. 

From its heart sweet music rolls, 

As it softly swings and tolls. 

We can hear the wondrous rhymes 

Of the twilight's floating chimes, 

In the rythmed spell 

Of the twilight bell. 

If we banish from our heart 
All the hatred, grief and strife. 

And the wicked passions part 
From the pulses of our life, 

For it cannot enter in 

To a heart, defiled with sin. 

So we hearken oft in vain, 

For the legend's mystic strain 

In the swaying swell 

Of the angel's bell. 

Xegenb ot tbe flXboss iRose 

In the shade of a lovely rose 
An angel stopped to rest. 

As he sank in a sweet repose, 
His wings about him pressed. 

All the buds and the roses bent 
To shade his sleeping eyes, 

And their odorous hearts were blent 
In sweet perfuming sighs. 



65 

Wiien the beautiful sleeper woke, 
He blessed the blooming tree. 
" For the shade," thus the angel spoke, 
" And fragrance shed o'er me, 

" I will grant thee a gift, fair tree. 

To bless the love thou'st shown ! " 
And it cried, * ' I^et thy gift then be 
A charm no rose has known ! " 

But he stood at a seeming loss 
For something strange and new, 

Till espying some lovely moss, 
All moist with trembling dew. 

So he gathered the lovely green, 
And closely round them pressed. 

And the fairest of roses seen 
Is that by the angel dressed. 

H 1Raxn^ Ba^ 

Oh, the dreary, dreary sway 
Of a weary rainy day ! 
Like a fun'ral sad and slow, 
All its mournful hours go. 
While a creepy sadness sits, 
And beside us closely flits, 
Till our spirit broods and grieves 
With the symphony it weaves 
On a rainy day. 

Through the veil of falling rain, 
As it raps the window pane, 
There's a tall denuded tree, 
And it seems to nod to me, 



66 



As it shakes the stormy drops 
From its branches' polished tops. 
' Tis a skeleton that moans, 
'As it waves its naked bones 
On this rainy day. 

Oh, the dreary, dreary sway 
Of a weary rainy day ! 
When we count its minor strain 
By the beating of the rain. 
But the rain must quicken all, 
Over every heart must fall. 
Till it blossoms forth again 
From the loneliness and pain 
Of a rainy day. 

2)t\>orceb 

My life in its radiant beauty 

Has been struck by the blighter's hand: 
The plague-laden demon who scatters 

Its poisonous germs o'er the land. 
'Tis stalking about like a monster. 

To revel in fiendish glee ; 
Through surfeit of ghoulish feasting. 

Exulting new horrors to see. 

Draw closer, my babies, around me ! 

Let me feel thj^ pure breaths on my brow. 
Oh, darlings, my darlings, enfold me, 

Thy presence shall strengthen me now ! 
Alas, I am w^eak, and so helpless 

To keep the gaunt wolf from the door, 
Oh, my darlings, my babies, now help me, 

And bring comfort in sweet baby lore. 



67 

No father to care for thee, babies, 

With a love that is tender and strong ! 
No father to guide thy young footsteps, 

And save thee from sin and from wrong ! 
Alone ye are left in your childhood 

To battle with want and disgrace ; 
Of thy birthright despoiled and defrauded, 

For the smiles of a beautiful face. 

A pitiless Circe has won him, 

And bewitched with her passionate song ; 
His promise, his vows are all broken, 

I thought so enduring and strong. 
Ah, surely, remorse must o'ertake him. 

When idly he muses alone ! 
A vision from the past must affront him 

From the ashes of our ruined home ! 

Oh, dark is the future before me, 

That was once so resplendent with light ! 

And blindly I grope in the darkness, 
' My daylight eclipsed into night. 

My darlings, my babies, come closer. 
And save me from death and despair ! 

With thy innocent faces around me, 

O'er my soul comes the calmness of prayer ! 

IRo ! Bsk /IDe IRot 

No ! ask me not to join the gay and happy throng ; 

The darker hours of solitude more fitting are 

For one whose ears are sadly tuned to grief's dull song. 

I would not be a death's head at your feast, 

Nor tinge your joy with sorrow's sombre hue. 

The seal of pain upon my weary eyes is pressed, — 

I would not cast its darkening gloom o'er you ! 



68 

No ! bid me not to drown my woe in pleasure's stream, 
Nor seek oblivion 'mid thy gay and joyous mirth ! 
Like Dead Sea air, my presence holds a blighting doom. 
Before my chilling breath no flowers of joy have birth ; — 
Then ask me not to join thy gay and merry throng. 
Oh, leave me, 'til the poisoned sting of sorrow's spent, — 
A painful solace runs through grief's sad song ! 

fivc^%iQ\)t fancies 

I sit alone by the fire to-night. 
And watch the castles of glowing light, 
Watching the pictures come and go 
In the fire's ruddy glow ; 
Watching the shadows rise and fall, 
And fitfully flicker over the wall. 
In the gleam of the fire-light bright, 
Bright dreams of the past arise to-night; 

Bright dreams that come when my heart is sad, 

With joyous visions to make me glad; 

Dreams that will stay through storm and strife, 

Silver3^ linings of my life; 

Shadows that gather, rise and fall, 

Enfolding my heart in funeral pall, 

All flee from the light of memory's dreams, 

And vanish beneath her silv'ry beams. 

A mystic spell from the glowing coals, 

Its magic fancy around me rolls; 

Shadowy forms flit to and fro 

In the fire's illusive glow; 

Faces and forms of loved ones dear, 

And shadowy voices whispering near; 



69 

In the gleam of the fire-light bright, 
The dreams of my youth return to-night; 

My blissful dreams, all too bright to last ! 
My shattered dreams and hopes long past, 
Dead — as the fire that burned so bright; 
Naught but ashes remain to-night ! 
Shadows of midnight around me creep, 
And gloomy phantoms my vigil keep. 
Gone are castles of glowing light; — 
There's naught but the ashes left to-night. 

ffate 

Dost weep because thy life is lone, 

And summer days are long ? 
Because thy dreary pathway leads 

Away from love and song ? 
Dost sigh because unfilled desires 

Are burning out thy heart ? 
Because thy brightest, fondest dreams 

With vanished years depart ? 

Before the grim, stern face of fate, 

None pass unscathed, or free; 
For sorrow, pain, or gnawing grief. 

To each she doth decree. 
The sweetest gifts, the favored taste, 

Are mixed with tears of brine, 
And panther shadows crouch and hide 

Within the limpid wine. 

She mixes all her sweetest joys 

At founts of living pain. 
And from the sky of summer's bliss 

She sends the winter's rain. 



70 

Then cease thy useless murmurings, 
And quench thy idle fears, 

Some lives are doomed to loneliness, 
And some are doomed to tears ! 

Qnl^ a Morb 

Only a harsh, and an angry word, 
Hastily uttered and painfully heard. 
Leaving its bitter and stinging smart 
In a tender and loving heart. 

Only a glance and a scornful frown 
Piercing the brain like a thorny crown. 
Gloomily nurtured, till each sad heart 
Slowly but surely drifteth apart. 

Slowly but surely drift away. 
Treading the path of an unknown day ; 
Bitterly facing the blinding rain, 
Life can ne'er be the same again. 

Only a word ! but the trusting heart, 
Qiiivering, burns 'neath the fiery dart ; 
Only a frown, and the world of pain 
Circles a heart with its galling chain. 

Powerful TitanSj whose hateful art 
Breaketh the bonds of love apart ; 
Stealthily toiling, till day by day, 
Hearts that have loved, are drifted away. 

Drifted away, in the world of pain, 
Blossoms of love shall not bloom again ; 
Drifted away, and the weary years 
Drowned in a passion of remorseful tears. 



71 

Zbc CbriBtenina ot tbe /iDarecbal 1Riel IRose 

The sound of martial troopers 

Throughout the village rang, 
And loud the veteran legions 

Their song of glory sang. 
The deadly war was ended, 

And France had stood the test, 
Her warriors home returning 

With vict'ry on each crest. 

As cheers and salutations 

The smiling victors greet, 
The scars and wounds all vanish 

On wings of incense sweet. 
From out the crowd a peasant 

Before the general stands, 
And to the noble hero 

A floral basket hands. 

And bending o'er the flowers, 

He hides the tears that steal, 
As swells the ringing chorus — 

" God bless our General Niel ! " 
He saved from Flora's treasures 

One virgin budding gem, 
With tiny living rootlets 

Attached unto its stem. 

With gentle care 'twas nurtured 

And tended day by day, 
Until its bloom proclaimed it 

A queen by beauty's sway. 
'Twas brought, this queen of roses, 

To her of women queen ; 
She kissed the glowing petals 

Of lemon-tinted sheen. 



72 

It lay upon the bosom 

Of France's noblest dame, 
Who, turning, asked the hero 
Her peerless rival's name ; 
*' 'Tis nameless, gracious lady ; 

The first that Paris grows ! ' ' 
'' Then I will be the sponsor 

For this, thy foundling rose ! " 

And raising high her jeweled hand : 

" All hear, my vassals leal. 
This rose and thou forever, 

Be known as Marechal Niel ! ' ' 
Thus fair Eugenia gave us, 

While flashed her merry glance, 
The queen rose of the roses, 

And Marechal Niel of France. 

Xonatellow 

Immortal bard ! We hail thee as our own, 
And glory in the deathless gift of thine, 
That placed thee 'mid the chosen few divine. 

Who stand within the circle of God's throne, 

Perpetuating Heaven's sweetest tone. 

That calmly grand majestic voice of thine 
Floats down the years unbroken, strong and fine, 

Revealing blessed visions thou hast known, 

To bless and elevate the human race. 

Thou did'st not, selfish, in thy heart immure 

Thy tenderness, but gave with Christ-like grace, 
Thy human sympathies, to raise and lure 

All men to lift to God a reverent face. 

Thy faith shall make thy songs and thee endure. 



73 



IRot tor ©ur5el\?es Hlone 

The strifes and toils, and burdens of life, 

That we carry day by day. 
Freighted with care, with sorrows rife. 

Through the lengthened weary way, 
Are not for ourselves alone. 

Oh, not for self the passionate tears 

In a scorching river glide. 
Burying joy in waves of fears, 

Like a molten lava tide ; — 

They're not for ourselves alone. 

The sighs and pray'rs, and sacrifice rent 
On our altared shrines each day, — 

Suppliant words intensely sent, 
As we humbly kneel to pray, — 
Are not for ourselves alone. 

. The birds that build the cosiest nest, 
While they, twitt'ring, chirp and sing, 
Rear as they toil a place of rest 
For the progeny they bring, — 
And not for themselves alone. 

The flocks of sheep their covering fleece 
To their masters gently yield; 

Under the shears in patient peace. 
They are meekly shorn of shield, — 
That's not for themselves alone. 

' Tis not for self, the legions of life, 
That abound in earth and sea. 
Peopling the world with busy strife. 
They fulfill the destiny,— 

That's not for themselves alone. 



74 

Oh, not for self, our wandering days 

On this busy earth are spent. 
Love through the misty veil of haze, 

Like a Polar star, is sent, — 
But not for ourselves alone. 

H ^footstep 

' Tis but a footstep, gentle, firm. 
No music's half so dear. 
My heart responds with gladsome joy 
Whenever it draws near. 

And when unto my listening ear 
There comes that welcome sound, 

The gath'ring shadows flit away, 
And sunshine wraps me round. 

Sometimes when darkening thought will fill 

My soul with gloom and fear, 
No fate seems hard, — no sorrow dark, — 

When I that footstep hear. 

Oh, dearest sound on earth to me, 

My watching ears to greet. 
My pulses throb responsive to 

The music of thy feet ! 



tsr^a^-tsTvX^ 



:Babi5 Is Dritting Hwap 

LULLABYE SONG 

Bye-a-bye ! Lul-la-bye ! 
Baby is drifting away ! 
Out of the day-land. 
Into the dream-land. 



75 



Baby is drifting away ! 

On the soft wings of mother's song, 

Baby is floating along, 

Floating away from me, 

Over the dream-land sea ! 

Hush-a-bye ! IvUl-la-bye ! 
Slowly the curtain lids close, 
Shutting the daylight 
Out from the dreamlight, 
Flushed with the tints of the rose ! 
Drowsily borne, by crooning low, 
Out from the mother's arms go 
Nestling upon her breast. 
Floats to the land of rest ! 

Rock-a-bye ! Lul-la-bye ! 
Baby is drifting away ! 
Out of the child life. 
Into the real life, 
Baby is drifting away ! 
Slowly the baby drifts along, 
Far from the lullaby e song, 
Into the land of care, 
Mother love knows not where ! 

I^ul-la-bye ! I,ul-la-bye ! 

Baby is drifting away ! 

Out of the meadows, 

Into the shadows, 

Further from mother each day ! 

Still shall the song now sung for thee 

Sweetest of memories be ! 

Deep in thy heart shall lie 

Mother's soft lullabye ! 



76 



BesiDe tbe Sea 

I stood beside the Golden Gate, 

And gazed on the glistening waves, 

That rushed to kiss the western sun, 
lyOw drooped o'er their mystical caves. 

A mist of tears bedimmed my eyes, 
Renewing the pain in my heart; 

I, too, had crossed the " Golden Gate," 
And watched fond illusions depart ; 

Had rushed with hopeful eagerness, 
As rush the voluptuous waves, 

To find in the golden god's embrace, 
Fruition that vanity craves. 

In eager joyousness I laid 
My life at the radiant shrine, 

Nor trembled when the golden bars 
Shut out all the love that was mine. 

The glitt'ring fetters round me coil. 
Imprisoning me closer each day, 

And from the burning, fetid breath 
I turn me in loathing away. 

I turn, as turns a soul that 's lost, 

From horrible visions aside, 
To quench in tears of fierce despair. 

The fires of ambition and pride. 

I gazed beyond the Golden Gate, 
Far out o'er the glistening sea, 

While ocean's requiem mournfully fell 
O'er hopes that are buried from me ! 



77 



Ube Uwins 

MONICA AND VERONICA 

Two sunbeams were changed to angels of light, 

And earthward descended together: 
Two fair little maids as airy and bright 

As elfins that dance on the heather: 
Two fair little heads with tresses of gold, 

Reflecting an aureole splendor; 
Twin sisters of love from heaven's own fold, 

With hearts that are loving and tender. 

Fair Monica's brow is earnest and grave. 

And life is a serious matter; 
Veronica makes each heart but a slave, 

Enchained by her innocent chatter; 
The fathomless depths of Monica's eyes, 

A studious wonder revealing, 
As if thro' her soul God's whispering flies. 

Its melody out to us stealing. 

Veronica's eyes are sparkling with glee. 

And life is a garden of pleasure; 
She sips all its sweets, a rollicking bee, 

Determined to have her full measure. 
Ah, who can divine the serious dart. 

That lies in the azureine fountains, 
Or reckon the strength within the gay heart, 

To carry her over life's mountains ? 

Supreme is the sway of little coquette. 

All hearts to her slavery bowing. 
And dearly beloved the serious pet, 

Her gentle dominion avowing. 
Twin fairies of love, may angels divine 

Preserve thy celestial beauty, 
And set, like a star, all charms that are thine, 

To shine o'er the pathway of duty ! 



78 



Cbrtstmas Ui^c 

Unhappy ? No ! These tears ? Ah, Reuben ! 

Do not grieve, tho' I pain you so ! 
For all day long my fancy's rambling 

With the memories of long ago. 
And from their tomb I've drawn these relics, 

That have lived through the dying years, 
And, yes, the faded fabrics showered 

With a foolish old woman's tears ! 

Ah, nay, do not look sad, my Reuben ! 

Though I wept, I am happy, dear. 
For all day long bright Lou and Walter, 

And my golden-haired Belle, were here. 
Perhaps 'tis only doting fancy, 

But I've dreamed that they came to me ; 
I heard their old-time childish chatter, 

As they gathered around my knee. 

You smile and chide my rambling fancies, 

But your eyes have grown dimmer, too, 
And veil your words of gentle chiding 

With the mist of the heart's soft dew. 
You truly say, all sombre dreaming 

Is unmeet for a night like this, 
And bid me turn in prayerful praises 

To the thought of to-morrow's bliss. 

When once again the house shall echo 

With the voices of children dear, 
Our aged hearts their youth renewing 

In the joy of our Christmas cheer. 
Ah, yes, I've much — aye much — for praises, 

And my heart is contented, too. 
And true to John, to Will, and Mary, 

And as proud of them all as you. 



79 



But bearded Will seems half a stranger, — 

I oft wonder can he be mine ; 
His high-bred wife is like a goddess, 

To be worshipped in awe divine. 
And thoughtful John, so wise and honored, 

Is your pride and your dearest joy; 
But I can hardly trace a likeness 

To the face of my baby boy. 

Another claims our daughter Mary, — 

I'm not jealous; it should be so ; 
Yet sadly miss the dear companion, 

And devotion I used to know. 
And she, our tender, loving daughter 

Is a queen in the halls of fame ; 
Her kiss is warm, her heart is loyal, 

But somehow she is not the same, 

Ah, yes, I'll laugh and beam to-morrow 

In the joys of the Christmas tide ! 
My heart expand with joyous greetings 

In the glow of a mother's pride. 
But for to-day I'm dreaming, Reuben, 

And the fancy will not depart ; 
The children, dear, who died in childhood, 

Seem much nearer unto my heart. 

tibree Xetters 

I. — MARRIAGB 

From out the midst of old-time souvenirs, 

Three faded letters thrilled me with their touch, 

Conjuring from the vault of buried years, 

A friend whom once I loved and honored much. 



80 



The while I traced her words of tender grace, 

Methought I saw two eyes of dreamy gray. — 
Twin stars that beamed from out a peach-blow face, 

And crovvned a form like sculptured Euterpe. 
Her letter burned with love's impassioned strain, 

Its time and tune a merry rondelay. 
The dimpling, flushing face untouched by pain, 

Arose in girlish beauty, as that day 
When full of joyous hope and rosy life, 
She wrote to say that soon she'd be a wife. 

II. — DESERTION 

A few short years ! But oh, the scorching pain, 

That swept o'er life its desolating blast ! 
A wailing dirge floats out its sad refrain 

From every line that chronicles the past; 
A pallid face with tearless, haunting eyes, 

I^ooks up at me from out the mournful page, 
With frozen lids upraised in wan surprise, 

By sorrow's alchemy transformed to age. 
She pierced the rosy clouds that veiled her dreams,— 

Alas, no golden bridgeway sparkled there, 
O'er which to reach Elysium's promised streams ! 

In emptiness she breathed the Dead Sea air. 
And crouching heaped its ashes o'er her life 
And blighted hopes, — a sad deserted wife ! 

Ill . — DEATH 

As when a sudden ringing in the ears 
Suggests the toll of passing fun'ral bell, 

This bordered letter roused recoiling fears, 
And froze me with a basiHsk's sharp spell. 



81 

In unfamiliar characters it spoke, 

And held my heart in check with icy breath; 
Its tone a sombre requiem awoke, 

That swept across my soul with sighs of death. 
My spirit gazed upon that girlish form, 

So still and white within its casket bed; 
A smiling calm succeeded life's rough storm, 

And shed the old-time beauty o'er the dead. 
I dare not weep, nor wish thee back again; 
' Twere sweet release when love and hope are vain. 

Ba6ter 

" Our Christ is risen ! " I^ist to the singing, 

That pours on the trembling air, 
From Easter bells ringing, joyously flinging 

Their harmony everywhere ! 
Look up, oh, thou pale, sad face, 

Look up from thy sin-cursed doom ! 
A glory now fills the place. 

Transforming the darkest tomb ! 

" Our Christ is risen ! " Easter bells pealing, 

All chime in their floating song; 
Our freedom revealing, over us stealing, 

Are bearing our hearts along. 
Arise on this Easter morn ! 

Exult in thy fetter's loss ! 
Arise, for new hope is born 

From out of the Easter cross ! 



82 

H tableau 

A HAPPY HOME 

Within a cottage room, in simple guise, 

The day toil done, a family is grouped; 
The father sits and reads, but oft his eyes 

Desert the page and seek his wife, low stooped 
Above the child that cuddles at her knee; 

His rugged face with love grown young again, 
The while he hears the crooning " A "— " B "— *' C," 

That sweeps his heart like a seraph's sweetest strain. 
Three manly boys around the table pore 

O'er books in earnest study bent. The one 
Grown daughter steeped in all the puzzling lore 

Of chess, expounded by a neighbor's son. 
The sleek white cat whose tricks for notice fail. 
Contents herself by frisking with her tail. 

The large black dog full stretched in calm content, 

In blinking bliss before the ruddy grate. 
Whose dancing flame across his sable fur is sent, 

And twinkles in the pictures poised sedate. 
Anon, some foolish move, or happy feat. 

That crowns a king or counts a queen the less, 
Floats out in merry laughter rippling sweet, — 

Fair augury from out the realm of chess. 
The upraised faces echo back the chime. 

Until it dies in ling' ring smiles away; 
Their glowing eyes reflect the wordless rhyme, 

That dwells within a maiden's laughter gay. 
Ah, happy home ! Thy peaceful love and cheer. 

The crowning bliss vouchsafed to mortals here ! 



83 

1891 

Bvery thought of my being in melody blends 
Till the musical anthem to Heaven ascends, 
In a swell of deep harmony peacefully gay, 
From my innermost soul on this Thanksgiving Day. 

The clear chime of the hymn, like an incense is blown 
In a cloud of sweet sighs to the seraphim's throne; 
The soft cadence unrolls in a symphony sweet, 
Its hosannas around the Creator's dear feet; 

In low murmuring thanks of unlimited praise 
For the peace of my life and the length of my days; 
For the air which I breathe with the keenest delight; 
For the sunshine of day and the calmness of night; 

For the green of the landscape and blue of the skies; 
For the beauteous earth, and the sight of my eyes. 
Oh, sincerest of thanks for the love that is mine ! 
For the love of the mortal, for my I^over divine ! 

And warm thanks for the guidance through trials of woe, 
And the tenderness temp'ring the pain I must know; 
But the deepest of thanks for the life to be won, 
When the joys and trials of this shall be done. 

Oh, I thank thee, my God, for all blessings and loss. 
For the glorified crown, for humility's cross. 
Hear this song of my heart, dear Creator, I pray ; 
Take my anthem of thanks on this Thanksgiving Day ! 

Xeoent) ot tbe IDtne 

Satan watched in jealous glee. 

While Noah planted the grape vine tree; 

Stealing out when all was done, 

He cried : * ' Sweet plant, thou art scarce begun ! 



84 



Of evil things thou shalt have no scant, 
My own, my charming plant ! 
Mine thou art, and mine shall be, 
And I will carefully nurture thee." 

Through a lion, hog and sheep, 
He plunged a dagger both swift and deep ; 
Drawing forth the steaming blood, 
He bathed the vine in their gory flood. 
Bach attribute of the living beast 
Within the plant increased ; 
Christened by this motley tide, 
A mongrel crew in its veins abide. 

Hidden 'neath a verdured crest, 

Its beastly baptism is manifest ; 

Traces of this foster draught, 

Impregnant with all the vices quaffed, 

Flash out in glints from the ripened plant, 

lyike evil rays ascant ; 

Discord floats from out the fruit, 

Like voices hoarse from a strident lute. 

He who drinks the garnered wine. 
Imbibes these traits from the deluged vine ; 
Drinking light, with gentle thirst, 
Awakes the friendliest nature first, 
That babbles forth in a bleating psalm, — 
Just like a tethered lamb ; 
Deeper draughts the traits will bring, 
That make him growl like the forest king. 

Deeper still will bring him down 
Below the jest of the vilest clown; 
Quenchless flames of thirsting fires 
Consume his soul with their base desires. 



85 

He wallows round in the seeping bog, 

A woeful, filthy hog. 

Reason flees before the vine, 

Whose tendrils drip with the blood of swine. 

Charming plant of nectared fire ! 

A noble sprout of ignoble sire, 

Paying him most royally 

For all the care he bestowed on thee; 

Evil dreams that Satan weaves. 

Deceitful lurk in thy trellised leaves. 

Luring by their vivid tone 

Through meshy snares that are all his own ! 

Pink-tinted with the warmth of rosy June, 
The bud of nature drinks the shining draught 
Of life; its elix'r unconscious quaffed 
In mystic beams. The gentle croon 
Of seraph's music sets the world attune; 
And all the harmonies of Heaven waft, 
As if with revelling baby angels laughed 
In soft, low chimes a strange but merry rune. 
Full brightly dawns the child's auroral world, 
By sunbeams kissed, by angels lulled to rest; 
Fair rose within maternal arms unfurled, 
An angel's charge since first it cried at birth ; 
Its griefs swift soothed upon a mother's breast. 
The strangest, fairest blossom known to earth ! 




86 

Moman 

God's masterpiece was man, 'tis fitly said, 
Yet earth, and man and ev'ry wond'rous feat, 
When finished, still was sadly incomplete. 
Though man was fair, no angel bride could wed, 
So God created woman in her stead ; 
With form as fair, and voice as strangely sweet, 
And very like an angel when complete. 
She came, and all the world was comforted ! 
Creation's dream ! Upon whose loveliness 
Angelic eyes in wond'ring envy turn. 
Half jealous of the mortal's perfectness. 
Oh, woman, crowning gem of Heaven's plan ! 
Within whose heart celestial fires burn 
To bless and purify the love of man ! 

Duty is a harsh word, — 

Pleasure is a better ; 
Pleasure is a jewel, — 

Duty is a fetter. 
But the rays of pleasure 

Gleam in transient flashes, 
While the chain of duty 

Ever loudly clashes. 

Duty says, ' ' Remember ! ' ' 

Pleasure bids forgetting ; 
Pleasure's draught is nectar. 

But its dregs — regretting J 
Pleasure's hands extended, 

Full of promise teeming, 



87 

Melt away like visions 
In a night of dreaming. 

Pleasure's birth is earthy, — 

Duty's born of heaven ; 
Pleasure's sweet is cloying, — 

Duty is life's leaven. 
Through a maze of cloudlands 

Runs the path of pleasure, 
At the goal each runner 

Finds an empty measure. 

Duty touches burdens 

With her rosy fingers, 
And a hidden magic 

O'er her fetters lingers. 
They who stoop to gather 

Up the chain of duty, 
Find its heavy linkings 

Changed to strands of beauty ! 

xro Z\)^5clt Be XTrue 

In all thy acts to thyself be true, 
Then God and man will be true to you. 
A Nemesis gaunt will thy footsteps gauge, 
And wait for thee at the door of age. 
Accountant stern, to thy tott'ring years 
She adds the weight of her terrored fears ; 
She calls thy youth with its swarming host, 
To fright thee worse than a midnight ghost. 
Inquisitor's rack were a downy bed 
To that prepared for thy aged head ; 



88 



This law and creed thou must keep or rue, — 

In all thy acts to thyself be true. 

Be true ! Be true, in thy youthful years ! 

To spare thy age unavailing tears. 

Would' st make all thy days like a dream sublime, 

And snatch the lash from the hand of time ? 

Would' st bless the work thou art called to do ? 

Remember God ! — To thyself be true ! 

/IIM? HIbum 

I am wrapped in sad reverie, 

By myself all alone, 
As I fasten the shutters, 

That are noisily blown 
By the storm, that is raging 

In a furious gale, 
As it falls on my casement, 

In a shower of hail. 

And I turn, half in grieving, 

From the storm-beaten panes. 
To the grate that is rev'lling 

In the sensual flames. 
I am tired of Chaucer, 

Of De Quincey and Gray, 
So I take up my album 

In a spiritless way. 

And I pore o'er its pages. 
Where it rests on my knee, 

Till each face as I ponder, 
Seems to whisper to me, 



89 



In a whisper so laden 
With the odor of myrrh, 

That I feel its mute sadness 
All my sympathies stir. 

Here's the face of a maiden 

In a beauty sublime, 
Now deserted and withered 

In her womanhood's prime ; 
By her side a companion, 

With the eyes of a dove, 
In a holacaust offered 

On the altar of love. 

Once again do I, shiver 

By the funeral pall, 
As I gaze on a comrade. 

Who was dearest of all. 
There's a sigh full of pity, 

Yet of sacredness, too, 
While I look on a traitor. 

Who was base and untrue. 

Here's the face of a lover, 

As it gazed into mine 
With a wealth of devotion, 

Undefiled and divine ; 
There's a mound with the verdure 

Of its carpeted mold, 
Where forget-me-nots nestle. 

And the story is told. 

And returning my album 
To its place on the shelf, 

A soft peacefulness wraps me. 
As I sit by myself 



90 



In the light of the sadness 
That the album has thrown, 

The heart's not the saddest, 
That is sitting alone ! 



tK^jE^-tjj^^ai- 



Xlbe Sbabow on tbe Curtain 

I sit and dream in the gloaming, 

Till the stars come one by one, 
And wink and blink at my castles. 

In a chime of twinkling fun. 
I watch their flickering flashes, 

Till a shade dispels their sway, — 
A shade that falls on the curtain 

In the house across the way. 

A shade? In truth they are shadows. 

But together softly blent ; 
I fear the regular plural 

Would be scarcely what I meant ; 
And yet, one head has its tresses 

In a twisted Psyche knot ; 
And one short clipped, — and I wonder. 

Is he a mustached blonde, or not ? 

I watch the play of the shadow, 

lyike a wordless song, whose air 
In music falls on the curtain 

From the lovers over there. 
Its tell-tale rhythm is singing 

An impassioned lover's lay ; 
The rhymes float out from the shadow 

On the curtain o'er the way. 



91 

Hn ©lb /iDan's Bream 

An old man sat in a reverie, 

Watching tlie river flow on to the sea. 
The sinking sun cast a lingering ray 

Over the stream and the dreamer so gray, 
And forms stole out in the mellowed dyes, 

Softening the gleam in the reveried eyes. 
His soul looked out in a spellbound gaze 

Over the scenes of his earlier days. 

His youth rose up with its tender hands, 

Struggling in poverty's manacled bands ; 
The stormy scenes of his manhood's years 

Came in the throes of their myriad fears. 
He saw the grip of ambition's sighs 

Rending his heart with their passionate cries ; 
He marveled much at the little gain. 

Counting the griefs, and the losses and pain: 

One sunny day in a week of rain ; 

Glimpses of joy through the curtain of pain ; 
One gleam of love, in whose joyous birth 

Heart songs of gladness rang out o'er the earth ; 
A passing kiss from the lips of fame, 

Bom but to die in the hour it came ; 
Some fleeting joys and some fleeting gold, 

I^eaving them all for a shroud of earth mold. 

Thus ran the dream of the old man's life, 

Lighted by sunshine and shaded by strife. 
The river sang as it flowed away. 

Soothing the dreamer, so old and so gray. 
It softly changed in the falling night, — 

Changed to a river of beautiful light ! 
The brilliant glints of the dying sun 

Fell o'er the web of a life that was spun. 



92 

Sbe ant) 3 

We are sisters two, but she the fairest was in form and 

face ; 
She could sway all moods, and touch each hidden chord 

with matchless grace. 
O'er her youth the Fates in kindness smiled, and blest her 

tender years ; 
E'en all nature turned a gladsome face, nor droopt to 

brood in tears. 

Soon came love to crown her life with lucid light through 

all its ways, — 
On her path to shed its silv'ry flame all through the 

perfect days. 
But she, smiling, bade him go; to warmest pleading 

answered, ** Nay ! " 
While I watched, dismayed, and wondering, asked, " Oh, 

why not bid him stay ? ' ' 

With a frown she cold replied, " Ah, love his wings will 

surely try ; 
When the honey gold is gone the wanton love is sure to 

fly ! " 
Then came gold with words like seeds of fire, to win her 

for his own ; 
She should reign within his palace, like a queen upon her 

throne. 

So she, smiling, bade him stay, and revelled in her golden 

dream ; 
O'er her pathway flash the golden rays with scintillating 

beam. 
But 'tis well the heart that gold has given her she cannot 

see : 
'Tis a charnel-house of memories from which she'd, 

shudd'ring, flee. 



93 

Round its brighter halls encircles many a syren's pictured 

face ; 
Did she know, alas, she'd deem her own no high nor 

honored place ! 
Does she know? Does vain regret e'er bring her sordid 

soul to task ? 
Who can tell? There's none can read the face beneath 

a golden mask ! 

We are sisters two ; my hands with labor brown; hers lily 

white ; 
She has wealth, and I have children three, and toil from 

morn till night. 
Of one race, and yet our lives so widely sundered each 

from each, 
That I can as easy pluck a star as hope her height to 

reach ! 

She is free as bird to wing her way all o'er the sea and 

earth, 
But a prisoner I, enchained by duty's fetters since my 

birth. 
As to-day I read she dined with kings, the fairest lady 

there, 
Hot rebellious thoughts my pulses filled when I our lots 

compare. 

" I have nothing, nothing," wailed my heart a moment 

mournfully ; 
*' ' Tis unjust to give her all and dole such meagre gifts 

to me! " 
" Oh, mama, mama, dear ! " young voices woke the house 

to life ; 
" Oh, my dearest ! Home again, to you my love, my 

darling wife ! ' ' 



94 



And I've nothing? nothing? Pardon! Pardon! Lord, my 

sinful thought ! 
I have all, and she has nothing save the baubles gold 

has bought ! 



'cs^ai-tirsa^ 



601^ 



Gold, gold I thou'rt a curse, — yet a blessing with treasures 

untold. 
Old ! cold ! but waking the furious flames of desire ! 
Leaving in ashes each heart that tastes of thy liquid fire ! 
Dream of the youth and the sage, oh, beautiful, syren 

gold ! . 

Shall we count the coming hours, 

And wait for " better days? " 
Shall we spurn to-day that 's ours, . 

And on to-morrow gaze ? 
Shall we take the gifts at our feet, 

Or turn impatient away ? 
Their wings are light and fleet, — 

Wisdom would bid them stay. 
To-morrow may frowningly greet ; 

There 's a smile on the face of to-day ! 

Shall we turn our heads away, 
Like children spoiled and proud, 

Just because the lustrous ray 
Is dimmed by passing cloud ? 

Shall we count the ripening wheat 
And reckon garnered sheaves ? 



95 



Find fault with flowers sweet, 

Sighing o'er falling leaves ? 
To-day is too brief and too fleet 

For the dream that the fanciful weaves. 

'Tis enough to know to-day 

Is offering treasures dear. 
Must we question, frown, or weigh, 

Or spoil with idle fear ? 
Shall we scorn the proffering cup, 

Because its glistening wine 
To the brim does not come up ? 

No ! From thy hand divine 
I'll drink and thy pleasures all sup. 
'Tis enough I should know they are mine 

H Berftele^ Cottage 

There nestles a vine-covered cottage 

In the shade of the vernal hills, 
And often its welcoming greeting 

To my innermost being thrills 
With a measure of pleasure, 

That can banish the darkest woe, 
So beguiling and wiling 

Is the warmth of its fervid glow. 

The charm of its peaceful seclusion 

Is the bonniest boon to me ; 
I turn from the smothering city 

To the visions of hills and sea ; 
From the rustle and bustle 

Of the harassing crowds of care. 



96 

From the spying and sighing, 

To the peacefulness brooding there. 

And yet, not the charms of the mountains, 

Nor the sea with its sunset dyes, 
Can rival with all of its splendors, 

The soft lustre of kindling eyes. 
Ah, their greeting at meeting, 

Is a welcome almost divine ; 
In its flowing and glowing, 

Like a draught of celestial wine ! 

Though life in its varying changes 

Through the veil of the future peers, 
And beckons me out from my dream lands, 

To the glare of her wand' ring years. 
Ever ranging, unchanging, 

All the thoughts of my constant breast, 
In the seeming of dreaming, 

Shall fly back to that cosy nest. 

Timber tbe /iRulberr^ Uree 

Tweet ! Tweet ! Tweet ! 
High up in the mulberry tree. 
Two little robins so glad and free, 
Are looking and laughing at you and me, 
Under the mulberry tree. 

Tweet ! Tweet ! Tweet ! 
They're merrily building a nest 
Of mossy twigs all with feathers prest ; 
The loveliest, daintiest place of rest. 
Up in the mulberry tree. 



97 

Tweet ! Tweet ! Tweet ! 
They're nodding at you and at me, 
And singing " See, won't you look and see ? 
The happiest lovers are we, are we ! " 
High in the mulberry tree. 

Tweet ! Tweet ! Tweet ! 
Just look at their wise little eyes ; 
They say as plain as the sunlit skies : 
' ' Oh, tell her you love her, then do likewise ! ' ^ 
Down from the mulberry tree. 

Sweet ! Sweet ! Sweet ! 
You know that I love you, my dear. 
I'd ask a question, but, doubting, fear ; 
The robins are right, — I will ask it here, 
Under the mulberry tree. 

Sweet ! Sweet ! Sweet ! 
No happier lovers than we ; 
Ere summer flies we shall married be. 
Our beautiful nest you shall surely see, 
Close to the mulberry tree. 

Uhc Wcv\V5 Bribe 

The Devil one day was sorely perplext, 

And thus to his henchman said: 
" There's Pride, and there's lyust, there is Anger and Sloth, 

The very best agents we've bred ; 
And yet, there are souls whom I longingly wait. 
Who perversely refuse our bait ! " 

The Devil then took a few pinches of fire, 

And snufled up his glowing red nose, 
Then roughly shook out all the kinks in his tail. 

And thoughtfully gazed on his toes. 



98 

" Oh, master, there's one who will bring you these souls, 

Tho' the others have tried in vain : 
Just fix up a story for Slander to tell, 

And season it well with pain. 
Then send her to them while it's spicy and new, 
And I'll wager she'll bring them to you." 

So straightway the Devil his potion to mix, 

Dissected a maiden's fair name, 
Then drew out the blood from a mother's proud heart, 

And mixed it all up with the shame. 
He brewed the lot well and he seasoned with tears. 
Then gave it to Slander 'mid cheers. 

She went to the souls where the others had failed, 

And whispered the fiendish news ; 
They, wondering, heard, then asked her to dine, 

lycst some of the story they lose. 
She stayed and made friends with her smooth oily tongue. 
And they felt not the fangs that stung. 

All those who had listened she smilingly kissed, — 

Her kiss the red signet of hell ; 
And those who recounted her horrible tales, 

Beneath her dread mastery fell. 
The loathly contagion her breathing distilled, 
Till each soul with the poison was filled. 

The Devil in jubilee capered about, 

And gave her a seat at his side ; 
The red vaulted caverns of hell were aglow, 

Where soul-dowered Slander was bride. 




99 

Uears 

Tears ! Tears ! Tears ! 

While the years of life run by, 
Though we taste of the cup of pleasure, 

The chalice of pain is nigh. 

Oh, well for the heart that's content, 
And in meekness accepteth its part ! 

Oh, well for the soul that feels, 

'Tis the tears that cleanseth the heart ! 

Through a blinding mist and rain, 
We must reach our haven of rest, 

And there we shall learn, what we cannot here, 
That the pain and the tears were best ! 

Tears ! Tears ! Tears ! 

As the years of life go by. 
Though we drain to the dregs the pleasure, 

The chalice of woe is nigh ! 



'OJ^^avoj^^ai' 



mor]^ 



"Work!" "Work!" 
'Tis the commanding refrain 
In the busy song of life. 

"Work!" "Work!" 
lyist to the echoing strain 
Of the rhythmed spirit of strife! 
Loud o'er the hills and the vale, 
And in whispers through the gale. 
Muffled to sobs in our grief, 
It is crooned by every leaf 



100 



"Work !" "Work!" 
Nature assigns thee a task, 
And she sings with every breath, 

''Work!" ''Work!" 
Sluggardly rest is a mask, 
That conceals the spirit's death, 
lyist to the song as it floats 
O'er the verdured fields and moats ! 
Take the refrain! lyCt it fly, 
lyike a timbrel's joyful cry! 

"Work!" "Work!" 
Action and life are in work ! 
But in death dwells peace and rest. 

"Work!" ''Work!" 
Seek not thy portion to shirk, 
For the worker's part is best. 
Action is life — when 'tis fled 
Then in life thou liv'st — dead I 
Rest is the twilight of gloom, 
And its night falls in the tomb ! 

Deab 

Now fold the hands, so white and cold, 

Upon the pulseless breast, 
And gently close the tired eyes, 

In death's unbroken rest. 
No toil shall stain those snowy hands, 

No tears shall dim the eyes, 
No earthly cares again shall wake 

The burning storm of sighs. 

No tolling bells, nor lowered flags, 
Announce a hero's death ; 



101 



No wondrous tales of daring deeds 

Are told with bated breath. 
And yet, no name on Fame's bright scroll 

A greater vict'ry won, 
Than he who lies so silent there, 

Uneulogized, unsung ! 

Not his the gift to thrill men's hearts, 

Like orators of old ; 
Not his the hands to turn all things. 

As Midas did, to gold ; 
O'er self, and passions wild and strong, 

A noble vict'ry gained ; 
A noble life for others lived, 

Unselfish and unstained. 

The incense from that humble life 

Is dearer far to him 
Than those who drank immortal wine 

From fortune's flowing brim. 
And as ye gently place him in 

His narrow home of clay, 
Angelic choirs a requiem sing. 

Celestial harpists play. 

mine 

Softly and low this syren comes tapping. 

Gently tapping at every door ; 
Wooing gay youth with phantasy's promise. 

Luring age with sophistical lore ; 
Amorous fires from her amber eyes 
Flash like gleams from Blysian skies. 

Odorous breathings soaring around her, 
Bathe all hearts in a trance of desire ; 



102 

Mystical incense, weird and bewitching, 

Floating out from her heart of fire ; 
Witching odors that burn the brain, 
Censer and incense of shame and pain. 

Stretching out arms in wanton caressing, 
Danger lurks in her perfumed breath ; 

Languorous eyes are raised in persuasion, 
Luring men on to destruction and death ; 

Binding the soul in her mystic spell ; 

Changing mortals to imps of hell. 

Falsest deceiver ! Holding her captives 
Fettered slaves to her will evermore ; 

Stranded and wrecked, alone thej^ are lying, 
Mocked by the waves on her skeleton shore ; 

Pitiless winds in a bleaching shroud, 

Wrapping forms once so haughty and proud. 

Outcasts, alone in misery dying ; 

Spurned by her who has wrecked their soul ; 
Taking their all for amorous shadows ; 

Luring them on to a prizeless goal ; 
Dying alone, where their bleaching bones 
Need no epitaph's glowing tones. 

Beautiful temptress, beckoning men on, 
On, to fall at thy revelling shrine ! 

Where, in a frenzy, lovers are throwing 
Heaven away for embrace of thine ; 

Blindly deeming thy meagre dole 

Ample fee for their ruined soul. 




103 

Ibope 

Oh, grow not faint, thou weary heart, 

Though storm clouds rage to-day ! 
The blinding tempest soon is spent, 

The darkness passed away. 
Then break not now, oh tired heart ! 

But bend thee to thy fate ; - 
The past already claims to-day, 

Though morning seemeth late. 
Our anguished tears shall dim repose 

In memory's shroud of gray ; 
We'll gather, by to-morrow's sun, 

The hopes all wrecked to-day ! 

Beautttul Ibanbs 

I know two hands so plain and brown, 
To me they're wondrous fair ; 

Although they are no artist's dream, 
None others can compare. 

I,et poets sing and sculptors rave 
O'er hands so soft and white, 

But let me keep my mother's hands 
To be my life's delight. 

Though other hands their loving clasp 

Upon my own entwine, 
They'll never be one half so dear 

As mother's hands divine. 

I'll ne'er forget those loving hands, 
While life and love shall last, 

And know they'll greet me lovingly. 
When life and earth are past. 



104 



They've toiled for me both night and day,- 

Two tireless, faithful friends ; 
Though giving them a royal love, 

I cannot make amends. 

My happiness was all their care ; 

They toiled for that alone 
Through many sunless, struggling years, 

Without a sigh or moan. 

Though wrinkled now with age and toil, 

They're beautiful to see ; 
Of all things dear those dear old hands 

The dearest are to me. 

I have a happy neighbor, 

Who lives next door to me, 
And every pleasant morning, 

His cheery face I see. 
He watches for my coming, 

And when my toils commence, 
Just opposite my kitchen, 

He perches on the fence. 

He never crosses over. 

But sits and chats away, 
And if the door stood open. 

He'd sit and chat all day. 
His curly locks half hidden 

Beneath a battered straw, 
Whose mangled rim resembles 

A curved and rusty saw. 



105 

He shows the deepest interest 

In everything I do ; 
He often says he loves me, — 

And I believe it's true. 
That rusty straw is shading 

The sweetest face I know, 
And though he's only seven, 

I love my little beau. 

His bright, old-fashioned chatter 

Has made him dear to me. 
May heaven bless the prattler, 

And guide his destiny ! 
I wonder half in sadness. 

The while he chatters o'er, 
Will e'er my little neighbor 

Forget my kitchen door ? 

H OLetter 

'Twas but a faded letter, 

A relic from the past. 
Its withered heart exhaling 

A cruel, bitter blast. 
Kach letter outward glaring 

With thrilling, nameless fright, 
And this is what was written 

Upon its pages white : 

' * Dear friend^ I have a secret, 
That I must tell to you ; — 
I'm going to be married 

Inside a week or two." 
The words are dimmed and faded, 
And yet there comes to-night, 



106 

The mem'ry of the anguish, 
And all the years of blight ; 

The cruellest awakening, 

When dreams were at an end, 
All shattered by the being, 
Far dearer than a friend. 
His tearless sobs re-echo, 
" I loved her ! — loved her true ! " 
While wailing in impotence, 
"And I,— I thought she knew ! " 

He did not see the trembling 

Of fingers loved and dear, 
Nor know that o'er the message 

There fell a parting tear. 
While to herself she murmured, 
" I thought he cared for me ! 
Ah, no, 'twas foolish dreaming ; 

It could not, could not be ! " 

Two souls through life are wand' ring, 

In each a buried sigh, 
And both have missed the sweetness. 

That touched them going by. 
And o'er this faded letter. 

He sits with drooping head, 
His life unblessed and lonely 

By words he left unsaid. 

HBltgbteb 

When the friends that are dear, 
Who lightly love and part, 

Shall gaze with a doubting sneer 
On thy bruised and aching heart ; 



107 

When the praise that is sweet, 

Shall turn to dregs of gall, 
And pass with transient feet 

To obey another's call ; 
When the travail of tears 

Shall rend thy soul in twain, 
And sob in thy aching ears 

In an agony of pain ; 
When suspicion's red beams 

Shall shed their scorching ray, 
To wither thy fondest dreams, 

Till they, crumbling, drop away, — 
Come, thou friend of my youth, 

And I will give to thee 
A heart of devoted truth, 

And undying constancy ! 
Come, in friendship's dear name, 

For sake ol "Auld Lang Syne," 
Thy heart shall revive its flame, 

From the slumb'ring coals in mine. 

/llMssxon ot tbe 1bol^ Cross 

Santa Cruz, September 28th, ijgi 

TO REVEREND HUGH MCNAMEE 

Near the banks of lyorenzo, where wild roses grew 
In an emerald bed 'neath a cover of dew, 
Where the tangled wild fruit thro' the leafiness stole, 
And the saucy-eyed squirrel peeped out from his hole ; 
Where the hills and the valley trip down to the seas, 
To the music of birds from the giant-like trees ; 
Where the rocks and the vines thro' a glimmer of gold, 
In a rapturous vision their beauties unfold ; — 



108 

On the carpeted soil of the virginal land, 

Unscarred by the touch of a civilized hand, 

In the glow of an Indian Summer long past, 

The first cross and its lengthening shadow was cast. 

O'er it played the soft kiss of September's warm sun, 

And high Heaven rejoiced at the mission begun ; 

On the breast of that land through its grasses and moss, 

Was incarved the dear name of the glorious cross. 

' Santa Cruz ! Santa Cruz ! " Sung the heralds of God, 
As they blessed and baptized the regenerate sod. 
' Santa Cruz ! Santa Cruz ! ' ' Sung the hills to the sea, 
Till the echo was caught in the heart of the lea, 
And the red sons of Nature in wonderment stood. 
As they timidly gazed from the depths of the wood 
On the sable-clad priests, without arrows or spear. 
In the shade of the cross, undisturbed by a fear. 

For the symbol that sprung from dark Calvary's shame 
Sheds the light of its love in a conquering flame, 
And the heart of the savage was tamed and subdued 
By the sad solemn cross he could see from the wood. 
'Tis a century now since he wended to pray'r. 
To the voice of the bells thro' the slumbering air ; 
'Tis a century past since the white-handed priest 
Poured oblations divine at the first blessed feast. 

Now the stillness has deepened, unheeded the dawn, 
For the white hands are stilled and the neophyte gone; 
Not a vestige to mark where the wigwam was laid, 
Not a trace of the red man in forest, or glade. 
O'er the church a few relics their vigil still keep, 
And the life that was theirs seems to stealthily creep 
In low whispers adown from the pictures so old, 
And float out from the garments embroidered in gold. 



109 

As I stood on the top of the crumbling, old wall, 
In a tangle of vines that was covering all, 
I could gaze on the graves, where the faithful found rest 
' Neath the yellowing stones by the sunshine carest ; 
Through the silence was borne the shrill scream of the 

train, 
As it passed o'er the spot where Quintana was slain. 
Ah, 'tis fair this warm land, — this red land of the sun, — 
By the blood of our priesthood in martyrdom won ! 

The sad reverie fled, as the priest at my side 
Raised his hand with a gesture of tenderest pride 
To the church that arose from the century's mold, — 
A fair blossom new born from the heart of the old, — 
Where oblations are poured by a white-handed priest. 
Just as pure as they flowed at the first blessed feast ; 
And the cross that was born in black Calvary's woe 
Is the refuge and strength that it was long ago ! 



•-?KS.iD''arsai' 



Ube Ibammer 



I hear the clink of the builder's hammer, 

As I sit in my room alone ; 
At every stroke all the air waves tremble 

With a rhythmical, soothing tone. 
It works away like a human being. 

And its power seems to feel ; 
More wondrous far than magician's sceptre 

Is this sensitive bit of steel. 

There rises up 'neath its magic bidding, 
The most beautiful dream of man ; 

It works away till the dreamer's dreaming 
Is a tangible, shapeful plan. 



110 

A genius fair to its mortal master, 
It responds with a cheerful sound, 

And splendors brings from the world of chaos 
To the wondering eyes around. 

It works all da}^, and its merry singing 

In the tremulous air is rife ; 
Its noisy song all the echoes waking, 

lyike the spirit of glowing life. 
The clink, clink, clink of the hammer's music 

Is the sweetest of sounds to me, 
And every stroke is a voice prophetic 

Of the beautiful things to be. 

Hftermatb 

There comes a time when the heart grows weary, 

And sunniest days seem dull and dreary ; 

When voices of friends seem harsh and hateful, 

And solitude is benign and grateful ; 

When heart and brain leave the turmoiled scheming, 

To revel in retrospective dreaming, 

Alone, o'er scenes of the past to ponder, 

And tranquilly through its shadows wander. 

Heart-sick, to turn from the brilliant gleaming. 
Full surfeited with its vapid seeming, 
And loathing the haunts of giddy pleasure, 
Turn back to strains of a sadder measure. 
Alone ! Alone ! In preferred disunion, 
To hold with its soul a sweet communion; 
There comes a time when the He grows hateful, 
And solitude is the boon most grateful. 



Ill 



Then, dearest one, when thy heart is knowing 
The bitterness hid in life's vain showing; 
When wearily . turning from the seeming, 
From phantom joys of illusive dreaming, 
Thou drawest far from places crowded. 
And sittest alone in sadness shrouded, 
The long dead love, all its old spell weaving, 
Shall soothe thy heart in its lonely grieving ! 

I watched the toiling tide 

As it poured in a turbid flow, 
As it surged at eventide 

'Neath the lingering sunset's glow 
From out the dingy mart. 

Where the laborer's days are spent; 
Where beats the city's heart, 

And its vitalized life is sent. 

The streaming tide of life, 

As it rushed through the opened gates, 
Away from toiling strife 

And away from all jealous hates ; 
They surged in eager glee, 

To the air of the outer world, 
lyike wavelets, joyous, free. 

From the ocean of labor hurled. 

Ah, many joys and woes 

Can be read in its quickened deeps, 
As thus at evening's close, 
. . Unrestrained, it homeward leaps. 

Some forms bear rudest trace 

Of grim poverty's cruel hand, 



112 



While some in artless grace, 
Make a jubilant, happ}^ band. 

Beside the gay and fair, 

With a brow of unruffled calm, 
There stride dark forms of care, 

Like the breath of a mournful psalm. 
Some go to homes of light 

With a smile in their longing eyes. 
While some but wish at night, 

For the sun in to-morrow's skies. 

'Tis thus the years run on 

With their varjdng hopes and fears, 
And thus our life work's done, 

Side b}^ side in our joys and tears. 
The evening shadows fall, 

And the turbulent tide is passed ; 
Kind night has over all, 

Her own comforting mantle cast. 



Sonnet 

What dream so fair as summer's flashing skies, 

When full-robed lyuna sits in royal pride ? 
While golden rain from out her sceptre flies, 

And pours o'er earth its scintillating tide ? 
Ah, one bright dream to errant mortals sent. 

Is fair as flash of Luna's dazzling rays ! 
The moonlight peacefulness and glory blent 

In that sweet dream that gilds the darkest days. 
When perfect love in fullest splendor reigns, 

And bathes the world in floods of golden beams, 



113 



The rays scintillant flashed from mortal veins, 
Serenely vieing with the moon's bright streams. 

In love's clear sky undimmed by darkling strifes, 
Fair Luna's sceptre fades before the wife's. 

Zbc Sutctbe 

Turn not in loathing away ! 

Bend down in tenderness 
Over this clay ! 

Fold the pale hands o'er the breast ! 
Humanely pitying, — 

Fold them to rest. 

Lay the tost tresses aside ! 

Smooth out the mattedness. 
Trying to hide 

Some of the horror it knew ! 
Hide all its loathsomeness 

Out of our view ! 

Draw the white lids o'er the eyes, 

Gazing in shocking and 
Startled surprise ! 

Banish the horrible glare, 
Speaking remorse in its 

Sickening stare ! 

Speak not in censure nor blame ! 

Pity the foolishness ! 
Pity the shame ! 

Pity the dreariness here ! 
Shed o'er it feelingly 

Charity's tear ! 



114 

Speak of the heart that was true ! 

Think of the best of it ! 
Bring it to view, 

Here in its solitude ! 
Pity its loneliness ! 

Think of the good ! 

Think of the soul-rending strain ! 

Think of the misery, 
Terror and pain ! 

Death in its hideous kiss, 
Held for the dying who 

Wooed it like this ! 

Fleeing in madness and fear ! 

Fleeing the torturers 
Haunting it here ! 

Goaded by miseries, flown 
Far from the wretchedness 

Bitterly known ! 

Judge not the criminal there ! 

Judge not the sinfulness 
Of its despair ! 

Bend o'er it ! Pity its fall ! 
Be to it merciful ! 

Judge not at all ! 

Think that kind Heaven has shed 

Into the soul of it, 
Just ere it fled, 

One of contrition's sweet sighs. 
That in its whisperings 

Pierced through the skies ! 



115 

Decently robe it and lave ! 

Tenderly, tearfully, 
I^ay in the grave, 

Back with its own mother sod ! 
lycave it in peacefulness, — 

I^eave it with God ! 



'orsjc-'CSSJD' 



H Bream 

I gazed upon the ocean : 

Its every movement spoke of thee ; 
Its poetry of motion 

Recalled thy grace to me. 

I gazed up to the heavens, 

On jeweled splendor of the skies : 
Kach star in diamond flashes, 

Brought back thy gleaming eyes. 

I wandered 'mid the flowers, 
An exile in far distant climes : 

The fragrance of their breathing 
Awoke those bygone times. 

The murmurs of the zephyrs 

Were gentle whisperings of thee ; 

The warbling of the song birds 
Was like thy voice to me. 

I braved the storm of battle, 
And in the tumult of that hour, 

With horrors round me stalking, 
I felt thy witching pow'r. 



116 



Though years have passed in absence 
O'er many alien lands and stream, 

At every turn there rises 
This retrospective dream. 



'OJSJS^'ajsjD^ 



post /iDortem 

Bring flowers and deck the silent dead ! 
On costly pillow lay the weary head ! 
In richest robe of lace and satin rare, 
Array the form that e'en in death is fair ! 
As o'er the still and icy clay ye gaze, 
With lavish words ye chant the dead one's praise, 
And o'er the lost in pity shed a tear, 
And weep that one so fair should grace the bier 
In early bloom. 

With flowers make bright the gloomy pall, 
And praise her now, — in life ye kept it all. 
But scandal gave enough to blight her life, 
She gladly died to end the weary strife. 
Before those pallid cheeks and sightless eyes, 
Within your hardened hearts regrets must rise ; 
A little love had saved so much of pain ; 
Your praise, alas, as recompense is vain. 
'Tis late ! Too late ! 

Give flowers in wreaths and crosses fair. 
In shapes of floral art beyond compare ; 
A costly casket, fun'ral large and long; 
A grand display in music, sermon, song. 
She sought but little, — charity and love ; 
Your tardy gifts help not the soul above. 



117 

When asking love, ye gave her but a stone ; 
Think now these things your harshness can atone ? 
Too late ! Too late ! 



'CirSiB--tjfSiD' 



IRature's Song 

Sings the brooklet gliding by, 
Trill the birds in branches high, — 
"God is love!" 

Gentle zephyrs whisper low, 
As o'er mount and vale they go. 
In wild play or movement slow, — 
'' God is love ! " 

When the morning wakes the flow'rs, 
Then they sing through all the hours, - 
"God is here!" 

When the night falls o'er the wood, 
Still the song comes clear and good. 
From the voiceless solitude, — 
"God is here!" 

When with joy our life is blest. 
Then we sing with all the rest, — 
''God is love !" 

If the clouds make dark the way, 
Into night is changed our day ; 
Yet this song will cheer and stay, — 
"God is love!" 

In the days all sunny bright. 
Pours the heart in glad delight, — 
"God is here !" 



118 



In the night of gloom and pain, 
Comes that blessed strain again. 
Courage, soul ! New hope regain ! — 
"God is here!" 



'Ofs.ai-'^Ksaj' 



/IIMnstrel Maits 

Two minstrel children stood and played 

Upon a busy thoroughfare ; 
Their clothes were scanty, mean and old. 

And yet they seemed a happy pair. 
The boy played on his violin, 

With soul so wrapped in every tone, 
His visioned eyes saw not the crowd ; 

He stood a monarch there — alone ! 

The notes leapt out like prison'd birds, 

And filled the air with melody : 
Staccato tones of boisterous joy. 

And leggio depths of victory. 
The busy toilers ceased their work 

To join the eager listening throng, 
Enchained by music's mystic charm. 

Entranced by spell of air and song. 

The girl then poised her tambourine 

To catch each drop of silver rain ; 
The boy still played, his dreamy eyes 

Unkindled by the fire of gain. 
With beaming face the maiden stooped 

To pick some truant coins that fell, 
And still he played, and, dreaming, gazed 

Until she roused him from the spell. 



119 



Oh, minstrel waifs, whence are ye borne ? 

And how is cast your destiny ? 
For some, like you, who drank full deep 

The bitter draught of poverty. 
Have risen up a famous band, 

Whose pulses throb in quickened glow 
At plaudits of a wondering land. 

©lb Uimc 

" Ho, ho ! " said Old Time, as he passed 
By a woman besmirched with paint, 
'' Is it thus, my caress you'd o'ercast ? 
By my beard ! ' tis a noble feint ! 
But know you, my arrant old dame, 

'Tis as well that you spare such fuss ; 
No pigments can cope with my fame, 
Nor Old Time be deluded thus ! " 

So saying, he touched her again 

Till the wrinkles grew long and deep : 
" Ho, ho ! All your nostrums are vain, 

For my furrows shall through them creep ! 
A smile like a midsummer's rift, 

Through the frost of his visage broke, 
And changed his cold touch to a gift 

In the breath of a gentle stroke, — 

As softly it fell on a dame, 

Who was cheerfully growing old: 
" Ha, ha ! as thou feelest no shame 
In my kisses so stern and cold, 
I'll bless the bright faith of thy heart ; 

Ha, ha ! not a wrinkle shall tell," 
Said Old Time as he turned to start, 
" Where the chill of my kisses fell ! " 



120 

XTrutb 

Vex not thy soul in rage, 

O'er words of reproof, till thy face 
Be like a lettered page 

With blushes in crimsoning race ; 
A blind, impassioned brood. 

Diffused in a fiery tide. 
Resenting phrases rude 

With haughty, imperative pride. 

L<et not thy spirit fret 

Because of illusions laid bare, 
Nor chafe in hot regret 

For words diplomatic and fair. 
The face of truth is stern, 

But sternness and justice so blend, 
Once known and felt, we learn 

To recognize it as a friend. 

The hand that cuts away 

The growth from the cancerous sore, 
Is truer friend that day 

Than one who would cover it o'er. 
The piercing words that rend 

Conceit in a spasm of shame, 
But prove him truer friend 

Than one who would add to the flame. 

Unvarnished candor galls. 

So every one's friend must be sweet ; 
But surplus of sweetness soon palls, 

And only fair truth is complete. 
Spurn not the friend she will send. 

But claim him at once for thine own ; 
For everybody's friend 

Is nobody's friend but his own ! 



121 



Ifraternit^ 

DEDICATED TO THE Y. M. I. 

August, 1890 

A life that round itself doth roll, 
Is life — but life without a soul ! 
Deprived the vivifying ray, 
Immortalizing mortal clay. 

For vain is speech, and vain are creeds, 
Unleavened with the life of deeds ; 
And vanity's most artful pelf 
Is vain upon the idol self ! 

A life wrapped up in selfish earth, 
Ignores its high, ennobling birth, 
And spurns the heritage of God, 
Content to live a soulless clod ! 

The soul designed for high emprise, 
To life's sweet labor swiftly flies, 
And emulates the noble plan 
Of Christ, who loved his brother man ! 

Incarnate God ! Who walked unshamed 
As man, with man, his heart inflamed 
With boundless love, so deep and brave. 
To bless the saint, the sinner save ! 

Then hail ! Ye noble Christian band, 
Whose course divinity has planned; 
Thy strong fraternal bonds of love 
Approved by deity above. 

In blended links thy works uphold 
To form a chain of graven gold, 
Enwrought with loving Christian deeds, 
And Charity's immortal creeds ! 



122 

As man with man, as brother, friend, 
Fraternal love with Christ's shall blend, 
And Heaven's high majestic throne, 
Shall weave thy glory with its own ! 

March on ! In union's strength and might, 
With holy faith thy beacon light ! 
Beneath the cross, its pledge and guide ; 
Beneath the flag, thy nation's pride ! 

Work on ! Thy work is grand and good, 
And thou a noble brotherhood ! 
With lofty standards full in view. 
To God and country loyal, true ! 

Sate 

Ah, who can speak in arrogant pride 

Of an erring brother's sin. 
While round himself the treacherous tide 

Its deceitful ripples spin ? 
And who dare gaze with pitiless eyes 

On a soul storm-tost, perplext ? 
The circling vortex, widening, flies 

To engulf the scoffer next. 
For who is safe, and who can defy 

The deceitful whirls that wait 

In the surging sea of fate ? 
Count them as safe who, anchoring, lie 

Undisturbed by life's rough breath, 

In the harbored calm of death. 



123 

XTbe Bacbelor's ScrtG 

The humming bird flies from flower to flower, 
And draws from each heart in flashing sips, 

The innermost wealth of honeyed dower, 
While scarcely it touches the perfumed lips, 
Till over another it quickly dips ! 

Thus onward it flies, contentedly winging 
. Its way through the garden's scented air, 

To every bud his love song singing ! 
Though every one is sweet and rare, 
The charms of the last he finds most fair ! 

Ah, sly little bird that revels in blisses, — 
The garden is full of honeyed store. 

Then why should he lack for sweetest kisses ? 
The humming bird's wise ! Be ours his lore, 
And we just as free for evermore. 

XTbe Xover's IResponse to tbe Bacbelor 

I know two eyes so brightly blue. 

Whose diamond shaft has pierced me through ; 

I burn beneath the flashing ray, 

Yet love to linger 'neath their sway — 

Dear eyes so true, 

Of tender blue. 

If you could see them beam on me, 
No crusty bachelor you'd be ; 
Before the fire of melting eyes 
Your silly lore a coward flies — 

Dear eyes, to thee 

I'll constant be. 



124 

Such rays would pierce a heart of snow, 

And lay its resolutions low ; 

I'll not resist those eyes divine, 

But hope that soon I'll call them mine — 

Dear eyes aglow, 

I love you so. 

I grieve that base inconstancy 
And faithless vaunting pledges thee. 
I may not censure, curse, nor blame, 
But no true lover sanctions same — 

For love is true, 

And lovers too. 

/IDp %ovc 

My love is not a beauty, 

I candidly admit ; 
No devotee of fashion, 

Of repartee and wit ; 
No glistening orb is she. 

Whom satellites attend 
All round the shining circuit, 

Where wealth and beauty wend. 

The gilded halls of pleasure 

Are strangers to her feet ; 
No courtly cavaliers 

Her presence rush to greet, 
Rewarded by a glance 

Of Cupid's limpid fire. 
Or press of snowy hand, 

And smile that each desire. 



125 

Yet, though you see no beauty 

In feature, form nor face, 
To me my love is lovely 

In purity and grace. 
Her eyes are full of lovelight, 

That shines for me alone ; 
Her voice is Heaven's music, — 

I love its every tone. 

I^et him who will, take beauty, 

Take fashion, wit or grace ; 
But give to me the fairy, 

Who makes the home her place. 
A fire-side queen my love, 

Whose kingdom is my own, 
Who makes my home her palace, 

My heart her regal throne. 

GrowtUG ©It) 

While in the mirror gazing, 

There met my startled eyes 
Assurance so amazing, 

It filled me with surprise ; 
For in its depths were shining, 

lyike fairy threads astray. 
Among my tresses twining. 

Some silver strands of gray. 

A quickened pang of sorrow 
Shot through my smited frame ; 

It seemed from grief to borrow 
A sense I dare not name, — 



126 

It woke the peace that slumbered 

Within the arms of hope; 
The years I had not numbered, 

Were passing down the slope. 

My wakened brain was teeming 

With sad delinquent fears, — 
Ah, where the hopes, and dreaming, 

And promise of my years ? 
I turn away and shiver, 

As struck with icy cold: 
Those silver threads a-quiver 

Tell me I'm growing old. 

/IDater Dolorosa 

Woman of women, the pride of our race ! 
Upturned to the cross is thy lily white face ; 
Pale as the leaves of the hyacinth's snow, 
A vision of love in thy halo of woe ! 

Close in the shade of the desolate cross. 
Thy spirit was rent with its infinite loss ; 
Kissed by the gloom that its sombreness threw, 
Kach pang of Christ's flesh was re-echoed in you ! 

Watching his breath in its agonized flow, 
In grief that a mother-heart only can know ; 
Sorrowful mother, whose love was the dart, 
That pierced, as thou gazed, thro' thy quivering heart 

Love that was lulled in its torturing throe. 
By patience resigned to its measureless woe ! 
Sharing the pains of the crucifix tree. 
And draining the cup of redemption's decree ! 



127 



Yielding thy soul to tlie terrible strain 

To follow thy son through the furnace of pain ! 

Pattern of love, and devotion sublime ! 

A model to us through the cycles of time ! 

Dolorous mother ! Thy glorified gain 
Resplendently shines through the vista of pain. 
Womanhood's glory, so peerless and pure ! 
Of thee we shall learn to submit and endure ! 

May the musical chime 

In this symphonied rhyme, 

Be caught by the winds and the ocean, 

Till they sing of my land, 

On its sun-flecked strand, 
And the depth of a heart's devotion ! 

Oh, my Queen of the West ! 

Thou art regally drest, 

On thy emerald throne reclining ; 

Lies the silver-crowned bay 

At thy feet all the day, 
With its lover arms round thee twining. 

A Circean song 

Floats unconscious along. 

From thy heart, oh, my lovely valley ! 

Like enchantress of old, 

From its magic is rolled 
A bewitchment o'er those who dally. 

From thy mountains and bay. 
Let them turn to Cathay, 



128 

Or the roar of the bold Atlantic ; 

They will dream evermore, 

Of thy sea and its shore, 
And pine for thy hills romantic. 

Zhc Jrisb ffatrtes 

A panoplied host long aeons ago, 

Embittered high heaven with discord and woe. 

And straight to the white empyrean throne 

Rebellion's hot serpentine hisses were blown, 

Outpouring in waves its fiery tide, 

Impotently battling in arrogant pride. 

A space, — and the I^ord's omnipotent hand 

Swift hurled to their doom all the traitorous band. 

Like meteors flashed in showers of flame. 
They poured in a torrent of frenzxing shame. 
Proud Lucifer, with his satellites, fell 
Far down to the terrible chaos of hell ; 
But justice, with mercy, pitjdng blent. 
And checked the mad flight of avenging descent ; 
Some fell to the earth, in wildwood and lea, 
And myriads sank in the depths of the sea. 

Far down the abyss that angel of light 
Now reigns as a devil in caverns of night ; 
His knowledge and power ruling dark hell, 
And frighting the world with his terroriug spell. 
The angels that fell to the earth and the sea, 
Retain a strange beautj^ and radiancy ; 
They dwell in grand castles hid in the caves, 
And crystalline palaces under the waves. 



129 

They're known as the Irish fairies, whose sports 
Are sacred to Ireland's historical forts ; 
'Tis said that ofttimes by mortals they're seen 
In fanciful dances upon the soft green. 
Moreover, 'tis said, however that be, 
They covet the beautiful babies they see ; 
To save the dear babe, the mothers confess, 
They fasten some salt in the folds of its dress. 

Yet all the " good people," surely 'tis known, 

Are gentle and innocent if let alone, 

And freely they roam the mossiest banks, 

But when they're disturbed, play occasional pranks. 

The housewives all know the power of fire 

To banish the charms of the fairies' hot ire, 

So place a live coal just under the churn, 

And over sick cattle a lighted wisp burn. 

The fairies' low music, subtle and sweet, 

Soon weaves round the mortal enchantment complete. 

Full many a tale the Irish can tell 

Of selves, and of others witched by its spell ; 

The magical notes in fairy raths played 

Through Erin's sweet harmonies charmingly strayed, 

And binds with a spell of tenderest grace, 

Our hearts to this land and its legend' ry race. 



-tKS.J<>tE^^SJ^ 



jfair^ Castles 

In the heart of the mountains 
Are grand castles of gold, 

Where low murmuring fountains 
A sweet fragrance unfold ; 



130 

Where bright columns are glowing 
Through the crystaline halls, 

All their silver shafts flowing 
From the mirroring walls. 

The soft atmosphere throbbing 

With a magical strain, 
Like the exquisite sobbing 

Of an ecstasied pain ; 
The sweet melody stealing 

From the harps of pure gold, 
Till each sense and each feeling 

In its spell is enrolled. 

Here the fair}^ elves cluster 

Round the fairy king's throne, 
Where Finvarra can muster 

All the spell-workers known. 
With her golden hair streaming, 

Sits the beautiful queen, 
The jeweled dew gleaming 

From her gossamer sheen. 

All that magic can render 

'Neath the glittering dome, 
For the fairy king's splendor, 

For the fairy elves' home. 
Where the vintage of pleasure 

Is so gaily drunk up. 
To the banquet's full measure, 

From each flower-shaped cup. 

Through the castle's gold portals. 
By enchantment and wile. 

The most beautiful mortals 
Have abided awhile ; 



131 

The fair captives all bringing 
The soft melodies known, 

In the plaintive, sweet singing 
Of Ireland alone. 



3fatr^ palaces 

Below the toppling waves, 

That crest the sapphire sea, 
The fairies dwell in caves 

Of dreamful brilliancy ; 
Beneath the ocean's whirl, 

In palaces of gold, 
Of jazel gems and pearl, 

And jasper multifold. 

Far down where coral beds 

Bestud the crystal sea, 
Where climb the starry heads 

Of salt anemone ; 
Amid the waving groves 

Of grasses, palms and ferns. 
Where shipwrecked treasure-troves 

Enrich the fairy urns; 

In gleaming splendor dwell 

The fairies of the sea. 
And weave each fairy spell 

With ocean's mystery ; 
In sparkling banquet hall, 

That glows like jeweled mine, 
With golden floor and topaz wall, 

They drink their nectared wine. 



132 

Their hair, like woven beams 

Of morning's early sun, 
Floats down in shining streams 

Of yellow sunshine spun ; 
In robes of silver foam, 

Inwove with pearly seeds, 
On moonlight nights they roam 

Upon their snow-white steeds. 

Their syren music rolls 

In mystic witchery, 
Enticing mortal souls 

Below the sapphire sea. 
I^ove's madness counts no cost, 

While listening to the song ; 
But lulled to sleep is lost 

Among the fairy throng. 



ts«s>si-<s%ai' 



XTbe Xeprebaun 

Beside the green hedges 

And yellowing sheaf, 
Or under the cover 

Of shady dock-leaf, 
The Leprehaun nestles, 

And often is met. 
While busily working 

Beneath the sunset ; 
The fairy shoes mending 

So deftly and quick. 
His hammer outringing 

A silv'ry click, click. 



133 

With hat of three comers, 

And dress of bright green, 
The tricksiest fairy 

That ever was seen, 
He knows all the secrets 

Of deep hidden spots, 
And knows where gold treasure 

lyies buried in pots. 
He cobbles and cobbles, 

And hammers away. 
Half singing, half humming 

A melody gay. 

He's gay and capricious, 

Yet does a good turn. 
And shows those he fancies, 

The hidden gold urn. 
But covetous mortals 

Besiege him in vain ; 
He laughs at their struggles 

In baffling refrain, 
Entrapping them oft in 

Some dangerous trick ; 
But still they keep watch for 

His clinking click, click. 

The dear little fellow 

The Irish love well, 
And many strange stories 

Of Leprehauns tell : 
Of stateliest castles 

And families old, 
In noblest positions 

Through fairy-found gold ; 



134 

So eagerly listen 

To hear on their way 

His hammers click, clacking 
At closing of day. 

Tick, tack, as he cobbles 

And stitches away ; 
Click, clack, as he hammers 

At sunset each day. 
I wish I could catch you, 

Gay lyCprehaun, bold, 
And make you reveal me 

A pot of pure gold ; 
As under the dock-leaf 

You tick, tack away. 
Click, clacking, and humming 

Your fairy song, gay. 

Ube dairies' Dance 

When moonlight is beaming 

On greenwood and lea, 
The fairies come streaming 

From mountain and sea, 
All merrily prancing 

Adown the soft path. 
To join in the dancing 

That's held in the rath. 
The music floats sweetly 

From pipers unseen. 
Bewitching completely 

The fairies in green. 



135 

Each fairy pair dashes 

To dance the gay air, 
While wave their red sashes, 

And long yellow hair ; 
Thin gossamer dresses 

Around them are rolled, 
And binding their tresses, 

A band of pure gold. 

Their voices low sighing 

In echo's refrain, 
lyike Autumn leaves flying ; 

A scampering train 
Of elves, red and yellow, 

And golden-hued brown, 
On winds warm and mellow, 

Come capering down. 
They rise from the fountains 

The moonlight has kissed. 
And float o'er the mountains 

In purpling gold mist, 

To join the gay dancing 

On green sward at night, 
Their starry eyes glancing 

In roguish delight. 
They trip the gay measure, 

Retreat and advance. 
All revelling in pleasure 

And frolicsome dance ; 
Till moonlight is leaving 

The circle and lea, 
Then turn, half in grieving, 

To mountain and sea. 



136 

Hmelta ©pbelta Jones 

Amelia Ophelia Jones is the child of my brother Ned, 
But me and my Sal we tuk her the day thet her dad wuz 

dead ; 
We tended the little kid jest the same ez she 'd been our 

own ; 
The midget would win yure love ef yure heart wuz made 

of stone : 
Her hair 's like the silky floss thet encircles the sweetest 

corn, 
And she carries her head so proud you 'd think she's a 

lady born ; 
She bosses both Sal and me with a high and a mighty 

air, 
And we just adore the mite, like a foolish, old doting 

pair. 

The youngster wuz sleek and plump, 'twas a wonder the 

way she grew, 
Till now she's a' most upgrown to a woman before we 

knew. 
The years hev a startlin' way of a-skipping so slyly by, 
The gal makes us feel consid'ble older, m}^ Sal and I. 
The lass hed the best of schoolin' and learned all ther 

wuz to learn ; 
Of all of 'em she 's on top, with the highest of honors 

her'n. 
I never wuz high nor proud, nor hankrin' to blow my 

horn, 
But fellers that knowed Bill Jones will all know that 

she's a Jones born. 

She argifys brilliantly on the problems of church and 
state ; 



137 

The parson and her can beat all the orators I heard 

orate ; 
They talk of the psychic force and the loves of the 

astral soul ; 
Of " Auras " andsich strange things, and of " Karma's " 

supreme control ; 
Of poets and painters known in the world of esthetic art, 
And all of the high-toned lore thet's considered so grand 

and smart ; 
In learning I'm no great shakes, but I like elevatin' chat, 
And Sal and myself take prid« in argyments high like 

that. 

But times, when the gal is wrong, we reprove with old- 
fashioned zeal ; 
She gazes with lofty air while the faintest of smiles will 

steal, 
And break in a calm disdain, in provokingest kind of 

way, 
At all of the wisest things thet my Sal and myself can 

say. 
Altho' ther' be few book words thro' our ornery language 

flow, 
There are a few things in life thet we flatter ourselves 

we know; 
We might ez well save our wind fer to fatten our aged 

bones, 
Fer all our opinions weigh with Amelia Ophelia Jones ! 



138 

With fevered brow and a throbbing heart, 

In the starlit dome of blue, 
Search I the stars with a wizard's art, 

Asking their secrets true ; 
Is there work for me in the world's great mart ? 
Tell ; for I long to know ! 
Straight to the task I'll go, 
When I know in this busy world my part ! 

Imprisoned in by the walls of home, 

Where I sit with idle hands, 
Losing my life in the silver foam, 
Splashing my day dream lands, 
Will you whisper, stars, from your azure dome. 
What is my life to be ? 
Whisper, oh stars, to me, 
'Twill be deep and grand ! It shall not be foam ! " 

Is mine the gift with a magic hand. 

To imprison nature's tints ? 
Catching the gleams on the sunset strand, 

Flashing in amber glints ? 
Or is mine the gift of the poet grand, 
Heard in the world of song ? 
Waft me the answer along, — 
Is mine the poet, or artist's hand ? 

Or mine the hands that shall soothe to rest 

With a warm and gentle touch. 
Clasping fair babes to my loving breast, 

Loving and suff 'ring much ? 
Will you whisper, stars, from the twinkling West, 
Whisper the things I ask ? 
Tell me my lifelong task, 
Kre you steal away to 3^our place of rest ? 



139 



Within my heart there's a wild desire 

For Parnassian heights divine ! 
Thrilling my soul with its burning fire, 

Mad'ning as ancient wine ! 
O'er the hills there come from the goodly choir, 
Voices that eager call, — 
Voicing my wishes all ; — - 
Shall my life be here, or on mountains high'r ? 

" Thy longing cease ! oh, thou restless child, 
And obey the hand divine ! 
Guiding thee on through the world so wild, 

Straight to the gates that shine ! 
Thy appointed tasks are around thee, child, 
Close to thy hands all day ; 
Duty shall lead the way 
To thy fond desires, with a hand most mild ! " 

Xegenb of tbe Ibeltotrope 

An aged man lay dying 

In a lonely prairie home ; 
Once more 'mid youthful pleasures 

All his senses seemed to roam. 
He sang in low, sweet snatches, 

And he talked of flowing streams ; 
The little cabin echoed 

With the murmuring of his dreams. 

His little grandson wondered, 

As he stood beside the bed, 
And listened to the talking. 

And the strange, odd things he said ; 



140 

The infant's heart was troubled, 
For he thought it " wasn't right " 

To sing and talk so strangely, 
With a face so full of light ! 

He went beyond the doorway, 

Where he knelt in earnest pray'r ; 
Right through the blue of heaven, 

In the cool and silent air, 
Up went the childish sorrow 

To the mercy seat of God. 
The old man's cause thus pleaded, 

He arose up from the sod, 

And went into the cabin, 

Where the old man lay so still; 
Caressed by baby fingers, 

Once again an earthly thrill 
Went through the dying body 

As he answered with a smile; 
The childish face grew brighter. 

Though it trembled all the while. 

He left the form so silent, 

While he knelt again in pray'r ; 
'Twas then the angel blest him, 

As he knelt so earnest there. 
From out a hand there floated. 

Till it rested at his side, 
A little purple flower, 

And it nestled there in pride. 

The old man threw it earthward, 
As his spirit soared away, — 

It was the angel's token 

Of a new-born brighter day. 



141 

And thus was sent from Heaven, 
From the pure, white hand of Hope, 

The purple, star-eyed flower 
Of the fragrant heliotrope. 

Whene'er a prayer is wafted 

To the throne of God above. 
From hearts sincere and earnest 

For the soul of one they loVe, 
This lovely flower springeth, 

I^ike a sunbeam through the gloom, 
And, scarce the prayer is ended, 

Till it somewhere bursts in bloom. 

Ximbtcb? 

" Will you live by the quick or dead ? " 
Curious, questioned I, 
As a maid o'er her lover shed 

Tears that were soon to dry ; 
And her answer so swiftly flew, — 
" I'll to my love be true ! " 
In a year when I asked again. 
Slowly she answered then : 

"Should we live by the mould' ring clay 
Under the graveyard sod ? 
Shall we grope our benighted way. 

Shadowed till life is trod ? 
Shall we call a dark cloud of dread 
Up from death's clammy bed, 
Till the chill of its reeking mold 
Wraps us within its fold ? " 



142 

Then I asked of a widowed wife, 

When a few years had sped, 
Were the threads of her severed life 

Held by the quick or dead ? 
She replied, "In my memory 
Dear are the dead to me ! 
Shall I live by their fleshless sway, 
Flushing in life's heyday ? " 

But she said, in the latter years 

After her youth had fled, 
" O'er our joys a light film veers, 

Breathed by the pulseless dead ; 
And our loved that are laid away, 
Float from their furrowed clay ! 
And the flame of all new-found bliss 
Chills in their jealous kiss ! " 

Then I questioned an aged dame, 

Crowned with a snow-white head, 
And her answer in sadness came : 
" Swiftly life's sands have sped ! 
Ah, the dead, they are cherished dear, 
Dearer as they come near ! 
Yet I yearn with a heart that's sick, — 
Yearn for the loving quick ! 

" But the dead, — how they hover nigh, 

Close to my blanching face ! 
' You must come ! you must come ! ' they cry,- 

* Come to our cold embrace ! ' 
How they laugh at our fear and dread ! — 
They of the fearless dead ! 
'Tis the dead to the dying call, — 
They that are ruling all ! " 



143 



/iDarguertte 

Oh, tangled tresses of waving light, 
So wayward and wildly forlorn, 

Framing in with thy golden strands, 
A face like the eastern morn ! 

Divinest eyes of translucent blue, 
A gift that the angels have sent, 

Gazing out on this lovely world 
In innocent wonderment ! 

A trackless star from the studded dome, 
That flew to our wondering land, 

Earthward borne in thy eager flight. 
To join our earthly band ! 

Oh, not more fair is the snow-white flower 
We christened for thee, little sweet ; 

Pure as pearl, with its heart of gold, 
The radiant marguerite ! 

Oh, Marguerite ! May thy days be all 
As bright as thy beautiful youth ; 

Ever shine from thine eyes so blue 
The radiant soul of truth ! 

Beautiful orbs of liquid light ! 

Flashing beams of electrical fire ! 
Thy rays put evil shadows to flight. 

And prove base passion's funeral pyre. 
Oh, they shine on me with a light divine, 

And awake in my soul a fear, 

So innocent, pure and dear, — 
Should I dare to call them mine ? 



144 



Beautiful eyes, belov'd and true ! 

Guiding stars through the journey of life ! 
Beloved eyes that shine as I woo, 

And banish the shades of worry and strife. 
A fount of bliss is their light to me ; 

Oh, their depths I would test if I durst ; 

I'd drink with a lover's thirst, 
And be happy eternally. 

Wonderful eyes ! That stay with me ! 

Peeping out through my toil each hour. 
Companions dear, — none dearer can be, 

Nor wield a stronger psychical pow'r ! 
They have checked my steps on the brink of sin. 

And my hands in temptations stayed ; 

Their eloquent muteness arrayed, 
Doth from passion the vict'ry win. 

Beautiful eyes ! I love so well, 

Draw thee close that I may searchingly gaze 
To read the fate my beloved shall tell, 

Clear mirrored there, untarnished by haze ! 
Ah, beloved eyes, can I trust my own ? 

'Tis myself, in thine eyes divine ! 

And thou, — thou dost shine in mine ! 
Ah, beloved eyes ! Mine own ! 




145 

"J Don't dare!" 

" I don't care " went travelling along 
In a happy, careless way, 
Whistling and singing a jolly song, 
And laughing the livelong day: 
"Who'd be sad or grumble and moan 
In a place so full of bliss ? 
Fie ! upon those who will sigh and groan 
In a jolly old world like this ! '' 

So he flitted on like a bird, 

As it flits from tree to tree ; 
Ever the same was the song I heard, — 

A discordant jar to me ! 
" Oh, the world is jolly and gay, 

And a living owes to all ! 
Merrily sing, for the world will pay, 

If you only upon her call ! ' ' 

In the kindest, friendliest voice, 
" I don't care " called out to me ; 
Heeded not I, for I'd made my choice, 

And I turned from his company. 
'Tis a good and jolly old world, 

But she keeps a reckoning day ; 
Grimly she smiles when the scroll's unfurled 

And her creditors call for pay ! 

" I don't care " kept on his own waj^, 
And he neither toiled nor spun ; 

Somehow he thrived, and was always gay. 
And his life was a merry one. 

But when Wisdom spoke, " I don't care " 
Was amused at foolish fears, 

Answering her with a careless air : 

'• What's the odds in a hundred years ? " 



146 

So I left the gay " I don't care," 

And I toiled with earnest hands ; 
Willing old world with a ready air, 

Made a response to my bold demands. 
In the after years of my life, 

When the sands were running low, 
Garnered the sheaves of my toil and strife, 

And I'd reaped what the toilers sow, 

I was riding out on the road 

On a sunny summer day, 
Close to the walls of the poor's abode, 

Where they finish their checkered way. 
There I saw the decrepit and lame, 

And the bowed old forms of age, — 
Saw in their eyes a regretful shame, 

As they glanced from the well-worn page ! 

And I rode right on through the field. 
Where the stronger were at work ; 

Charity's crust she will seldom yield. 
If the pleader her duties shirk. 

As I gazed and loosened the lines, 
" I don't care " looked up in alarm, — 

Picking the fruit from the bending vines 
In the field of the Poor-House farm ! 

JBabp's Beat) 

Voices whisper gently, 

And footsteps lightly tread 
In the sombre stillness, — 

Baby's dead ! 



147 

Snow- white baby blossom, 
That lies so still and cold, 

Gathered by the reaper, 
Grim and bold ! 

Coffined in the tresses, 

That crown the golden head^ 
Mother's dreams lie buried, — 

Baby's dead ! 

Passers-by are saddened. 

When told the message dread, 

Told by flutt'ring ribbons, — 
Baby's dead ! 

Past the mournful portal 

Is hushed each merry tone ; 
Pray'r springs up with pity, — 
' ' Spare my own ! ' ' 

Brooding shadows thicken 

Whence late the spirit fled, 
Murmuring as they gather, 
" Baby's dead ! " 

Byes grow round and earnest ; 

All trace of mirth is fled. 
As the children whisper, — 
"Baby's dead !" 

Awed and strangely silenced, 
As first their young feet stand 

'Neath the shade of Death's dim 
Border land ! 

Conscious of the power 

Its nameless terrors shed ; 
Each to each in wonder, — 
" Baby's dead ! " 



148 

Gentle faces linger 

Above the casket bed, 
Where God's priceless jewel, — 

Baby's dead ! 

Gleaming angels hover 

Beside the satin bier, 
To the anguished mother 

Drawing near. 

Soothing bitter sorrow, 

They chant around her head, 

Lord, thy will be done ! " Though 
Baby's dead ! 

Scatter fairest flowers, 

Where rests the pillowed head ; 
Let their fragrance whisper, — 
" Baby's dead ! " 

Fairest budding blossoms. 
That bloom on earth below, 

Pure as new-born flakes of 
Drifting snow ! 

Incense meet to tender 
With angel's censers shed, 

Barth with heaven mingling, — 
Baby's dead ! 



-ajs.j«>-ar-^ai- 



Uwo Mtnbows 

I know two wonderful windows of light, 
Whose opallent beams are my dearest delight ; 
I love to watch all their radiant rays, 
And oft on their splendor I earnestly gaze. 



149 

In casement rare and of wondrous design, 
They rest in a suitable, beautiful shrine ; 
No mullioned dream, by the architects graced, 
E'er rivalled the curves that above them are traced. 

The house is grand, of symmetrical shape. 
As ever was gauged by an architect's tape ; 
'Tis wondrous fair, but the windows are few ; 
In fact you will find that there are but two. 

Their curtains are of the snowiest white, 
And trimmed with a fringe that is blacker than night ; 
They sometimes fall when I'm gazing too strong ; 
I then turn away lest they stay so too long. 

So oft I gaze while the light o'er them climbs, — 
To you I will tell what I see there at times: 
Four forms there come to these windows of mine, 
That beam out on me with a varying shine. 

Two forms in white, that are oftenest there, 
A.re forms that are beautiful beyond compare ; 
They cast a soft, opallescent-like glow, 
That comforts my heart in its bitterest woe. 

They beam with joy, and they smile when I smile ; 
They weep when I weep, and are sad all the while ; 
They beckon with hands that are stainless as snow, 
And call me in tones that are thrillingly low. 

Their shining eyes are so warm and so chaste, 
Of paradise here they're the sweetest foretaste ; 
They've won my love with their innocent art, 
And ever from them I, reluctant, depart. 

Two other forms to these windows there come, — 
I'm glad 'tis not oft, for they're savage and glum ; 
In sableine garments, encircled in flame, 
They glare out at me in a frenzy of shame. 



150 

Their raging scorn and their fiery wrath 
Are fierce as a cyclone's demolishing path ; 
Their eyes are wild and their voices wax high'r, 
Exhaling a tempest of withering fire. 

They threaten me as they gesture there 
Like fiends fierce, of incarnate despair ; 
My heart grows sad when these rebels I see, 
And grieves for the banished in deep sympathy. 

I know the others will come back again 
And smooth from my brow every trace of my pain ; 
For brief is the stay of these forms that I hate, 
So, still by my windows I lovingly wait ! 



Jn a Cburcb 

I sat alone in a church, 

As the evening shadows fell. 
And heard the angelus ring 

From the silver-throated bell. 
A nimbus of amethyst light 

From the vigiled tapers leapt, 
And streamed o'er altar and niche, 

As the shadows denser crept. 

A softened reverie stole 

Through the wint'ry twilight's gloom, 
And peopled every pew 

With the dwellers of the tomb. 
I saw the friends of my youth, 

As they came in silent file. 
And took their usual place 

In their own accustomed aisle. 



151 

With them I knelt once again, 

And I noted every grace, 
That charmed my innocent youth 

In each dear, familiar face. 
I met the glance of a few, 

Who were dearer than the rest ; 
Whose tender smile sent a thrill 

Through my happy, peaceful breast. 

The service hour had come, 

And subdued the patt'ring rush ; 
All hearts were turned to the shrine, 

In a soft, expectant hush ! 
But lo ! from the sanctuary door 

Came no priest in robes of white, — 
'Twas but the sexton who came 

With his wand of waxen light. 

He chased the shadows away 
And dispelled my reverie ; 

The empty pews were all left 
To the sexton and to me. 

' Twas but an echo from youth, 

With its trembling chord of tears, 

That floated out in the gloom, 

Through the chastening frosts of years ! 

/ll>p ffrtent) 

Amid the whirl of pleasure's giddy train, 

My trusting heart found foolish, fond delight. 
And with all bright frivolities bedight, 
Upheld with confidence her regal reign, 
Nor dreamed it held aught false, deceptive, vain ! 
My vision, blurred, confused with garish light, 



152 

In darkest grief regained its stricken sight, 
And saw the falsity through tears of pain. 
Each brilliant flatterer right swiftly fled 
From joyless gloom; but one returned to me 

From out the past, unsought, soft tears to blend 
In watch with me beside my silent dead ; 
And in that lonely night of misery — 

Though long estranged, — I learned to know my friend ! 



'orsic-^ssiD' 



De ptotunMs 

A PRAYER 

Out of the depths, oh Lord, I cry ! 
Smited into the dust I lie ; 
Harsh disappointments, close and fast, 
'Whelm me in their icy blast. 
Listen, oh Lord, and hear my cry, 
Lest in despair I madly die ! 
Suffering Master, thou didst know 
Bitterer depths of anguished woe ! 
Prayed that the chalice pass away, — 
So unto thee I humbly pray. 
Let not my cry be breathed in vain, 
Thou who hast suffered mortal pain ! 
Take from my lips this bitter cup ! 
Stretch out thy hand and raise me up ! 
Yet, oh my Saviour, Lord divine. 
Humbly my will submits to thine ! 
Drowning in waves of misery. 
Master, my Master, save thou me ! 
Out of the depths wherein I lie, 
Answer, oh Lord, my stricken cry ! 
Take from my lips this bitter cup ! 
Stretch out thy hand and raise me up ! 



153 

ffatbet Damien 

Out from humanity's prison hell 

Floated deep moans of hopeless despair, 

Wrung from sad hearts in a tortured knell ; 
Borne on the stolid, leprous air ; 

Wafted along like a raven crew, 

Shrouding the sun in Heaven's blue ! 

Damien heard, and the echoed moan 

Swept through his soul a torrent of flame ; 

Borne on the breath of the sobbing tone, 
Voices from God in whispers came ! 

Voices that spoke of a dreadful theme, 

Worse than a fiend's ghoulish dream. 

Deep in his blood was the message burned, 
Quivering beneath the terrible brand. 

Back to its fount with a shiver turned. 
Trembling beneath the master's hand. 

Reckoning all of the fearful cost, 

Asked for these souls despairing, lost ! 

Smiling, he turned from the land he knew, 
Turned to the leper's land of despair, 

Wistfully gazing his last adieu ! 

Turned to that charnel's seething air, 

Answ'ring swift to his master's call, 

Giving to love his life, his all ! 

Terrible forms in the shadows stept. 
Spectres that made the senses recoil, 

Into the dreams of the sleepers crept. 
Weaving a daily tightening coil. 

Woefulest land, where at every turn 

Horrible visions scorch and burn ! 



154 

Into this land of lurid death, 

Answ'ring the voice that Jesus had sent, 
Mingling his life with each fetid breath, 

Knowing his doom, — he bravely went. 
Shepherd of Christ, thy appointed way 
Close to the waves of Marah lay ! 

Fanning bright faith in each dying heart, 
Till the pure flames that flickered so low, 

Up from the deadening embers start, 
Bidding its warm diffusive glow 

Banish the spectres of fierce despair, 

Surging in sickening thickness there. 

Bending o'er forms with a loving care ; 

Shunned by the friends once dearest and best; 
Spreading peace in the wretched air ; 

Minist'ring to the restless — rest ! 
Bringing the light of a shining grace 
Into each cankered, ghastly face. 

Snatching their souls from a damning despair ; 

Healing the fierce, dark spasms of hate ; 
Changing the curse to a contrite pray'r ; 

Calming the fears of a nearing fate ; 
Work that was meet for a priestly vow ; 
Gems that befit a martyr's brow. 

Seraph of light to that darkened isle ! 

Rift in the sky of terrible gloom ! 
Sparkle of hope ! For a fleeting while 

Lighting the depths of that living tomb ! 
Doing the work of thy priestly hands ! 
Watching the flow of thy ebbing sands ! 

Seeds of our faith from thy lonely grave, 
Far in that arid, desolate isle. 



155 

Floating along o'er the ocean wave, 

Come like the ghost of thy sweet smile, 
Into our hearts from thy life divine, 
Seeds of the fire that burnt in thine ! 

Ne'er shalt thou trail in the lowly dust, 

Standard of Christ ! Of faith that is ours ! 

Cherished and held as a sacred trust. 
High over all sublimely tow'rs. 

Ne'er shalt thou stoop in that humbling kiss, 

Borne by such hero priests as this ! 

XTbe 2)runftarb'0 Souq 

Fill higher ! higher ! 

Up to the brim ! 
Let the rosy sparkles 

Kiss the uppermost rim ! 
How they rush, and tumble, and chase each other. 

Surging about like living things ! 
Kach globuled heart in tuneful whispers, 
lyike a cymbal rings ! 

Fill higher ! higher ! 
Up with the tide ! 
lyCt the blood-stained waters 
Mark no ebb to their ride ! 
Let the warm, red waves of Nepenthe's vintage 

Drown dark thought in deluged fl.ow ! 
Then higher fill ! We'll woo the syrens 
In the depths below. 

Ah, lower ! lower ! 

Down with the tide ! 
As it rises upward. 

Lower ! lower I glide ! 



156 



Though I hear the hiss of the billows foaming, 
Surging above my sinking soul, — 

Fill higher still ! Here's bold defiance 
To their threat' ning roll ! 



-a5*-ii£i--t5rsaC' 



A laughing, dancing sprite, 

That fills our house with joy. 
And thrills our hearts with foolish dreams 

For darling baby boy ! 

What if his tiny hands 

New mischief find each day. 
And into Babel turns the house, 
When. baby deigns to play ! 

What if he beats the drum 

And loudly toots his horn. 
O'er blocks and chairs in martial line 

Our dignity is shorn ! 

What if this autocrat 

Our reading pulls aside, 
While through our hair and loved mustache 

The baby fingers glide ! 

What if at midnight's hour 

He yells in coliced pain, 
To stop the noise we trot the floor, 

But walk and trot in vain ! 

What if our hearts are tried 

By mishaps oft and dire, 
Still of our darling baby boy 

We never, never tire ! 



157 

Ah, lone and sad the hours 
That know no baby dear ! 

The heart has lost its sweetest joy 
That clasps no baby near ! 

Tho' patient love is taxed 
By tricks of fingers bold, 

We'd not exchange our baby boy 
For mines of shining gold ! 



'Sr^jEt'-tjrs-ii- 



Ubc Uransttguration 

Softly the evening's shadows fell 

Over the hills of Galilee ! 
Sweetly the daylight's dying knell 

Sounded o'er vale, o'er slope and sea ! 
As to Mt. Thabor, high and drear, 

Silently drew four men to pray: 
Peter and James, and John most dear, 

Praying with Christ at close of day ! 

Jesus, our I^ord ! In humble pray'r ! 

Kneeling in lordly majesty ; 
Humblest of all so humble there ! 

Ruler of kings, of earth and sea, 
Calling on God for help and strength ! 

Knowing the full and bitter meed, 
Waiting his footsteps' measured length ; 

Asking for help in sorest need ! 

Over them fell a softened light, 

Streaming in silv'ry shower unspun, 

Lustrous as snow Christ's garments white, 
Dazzling his face as noonday sun ! 



158 



1^0 w came his voice to Peter's ear, 
Quick went the faithful soul's reply: 
** Lord, it is good for us to be here ! " 
Scarce had he ceased, a vision nigh 

Burst on his startled, wondering sight, 

Standing by Christ two forms were seen 
In the soft glow of circling light: 

Moses, in clouds whose veiling sheen 
Tempered celestial beauty's breath ; 

Close at his side Klias came, — 
Glorified flesh that knew not death, 

Tinging the clouds with mortal flame ! 

Down from the sky a golden wave, 

Gleaming in gold and silvered blue. 
Kissing the Master's brow so grave, 

Over them all its glory threw ! 
Out from the waving brightness came 

Clearly a voice, whose melody 
Shot through each heart like holy flame, 

Quivering with sweetest sympathy: 

* ' This is my son ! who pleaseth me ! 

Mine most belov'd ! Hear ye him ! ' ' 
Gazing in awe these holy three 

Drank from the vision's gloried brim, 
Drank till they fell confused, amazed, 

Falling prostrate, unconscious, awed ! 
Jesus them touched, they rose and gazed ; 

Gone was the cloud that held their God ! 

Roused by the touch of Jesus' hand, 

Calmed by his voice their trembling fears, 

Down from the mount that little band 
Went to their fate of woe and tears ! 



159 



Yet in the years, so lone and tried, 

Came to them oft Christ's pale sweet face,- 

Just as they saw it glorified, — 

Filling their souls with patient grace ! 



'QSSai-'CS'^iJ'i' 



Scottp's xrban??sgx\?ing 

Around the ofiice gathered 

A dozen boys or less. 
All waiting for the papers 

From out the evening press, 
When up spoke one bright fellow. 

And hushed the chatt'ring noise: 
*' I s'pose I needn't tell you 
To-morrow is Thanksgiven', boys ! 

" For that's a fact, I'm certain 

That all you fellers knew ; 
There's none of us forgettin' 
The spread we're goin' to. 
For some of us been dreamin' 
A fortnit — mebbe more — 
About the temp tin' dinner 
Our bosses hev in store. 

" I want to mention sumthin' 

The crowd hed most forgot: 
Now, this Thanksgiven' dinner, 

We're missing little Scot ; 
It seems, somehow onnateral 

Thet we should all forget 
We loved the little feller, 

And made the mite our pet. 



160 



" So I've ben thinkin' sumthin' 

To prove our hearts are true, 
And so he'll know that Scotty's 

Remembered still by you. 
He's dead ?— Well what's the difi'rence? 

He'll know it just the same, 
And he'll be mighty tickled 

To think we called his name. 

" And though we can't do nothin' 

For Scot, our little pet, 
We'll try to help his mother, 

To show we don't forget. 
For she is poor and lonely, 

And stiff with rheumatiz', 
A-settin', cryin', — mebbe — 

To think where Scotty is ! 

* ' Now her Thanksgiven' dinner 

Comes from us paper boys. 
And so we'll take subscriptions 

Widout much furder noise. 
But let me also mention 

Right here as we begin, 
This gang has got no use for 

The chaps that won't chip in ! " 

But every boy right manly 

Stept forth and gave his share, 
Until to buy that dinner 

Was plenty and to spare. 
Then each w^ent off to duty, 

Deliv'ring papers all, 
And faithfully returning 

To wait their leader's call. 



161 

Then marching all together, 

Equipped with goodly store, 
They marched with solemn faces, 

And rapped upon the door. 
Unto the widow's answer, 

Went in, in martial file, 
Presenting her their bundles 

With courtly grace and style. 

* ' This here is your Thanksgiven' ' ' 

The smiling speaker said ; 
' ' It's from us paper fellows, 
Because our Scotty's dead. 
You see, we'd like to show him 

Us fellows don't forget, 
And so's we help his mother, 
He'll know we love him yet ! " 

%inc3 

WRITTEK IN A FRIEND'S ALBUM 

'Tis said that once our paths have crossed, 
The friendship formed is never lost ; 
And though diverging far and wide. 
We meet again " beyond the tide." 

Thus bound by friendship's holy spell, 
In mem'ry's temple I would dwell. 
If lurks perchance one prisoned dart, 
Forgive the hot, impassioned heart. 

For every action, great or small, 
One high desire governed all. 
Rememb'ring this, — forget the rest ! 
And gently say, ' ' She did her best ! ' ' 



162 

Uwo travelers 

Two travelers trod the path of life, 

And trilled meanwhile a merry lay ; 
Its joyous cadence, light and free, 

Beguiled and soothed their weary way. 
At length they reached a mountain side, 

Where wound a roadway from its base ; 
Here Fame held out her shining hands. 

And beckoned them with smiling face. 

All round her glowed a wond'rous light ; 

Refulgent rays in sparkling gleams, 
Shot out from winding mountain curves, 

To rouse the spirit's wildest dreams. 
Far o'er the distant summit shone 

A halo cloud of streaming gold, 
Whose burnished flames, like breathing fire, 

Inspired the soul with courage bold ! 

Led onward by this holy fire, 

They left the lowland path behind, 
To follow in the glowing light. 

And round the mountain roadway wind. 
Tho' falt'ring oft o'er stony ways, 

Those shining arms and smiling face 
But pointed to the summit's crown, 

And won them on to quickened pace. 

Midway upon the mountain road, 

A verdant landscape met their eye ; 
Here Cupids dwelt 'mid flowers and ease. 

And drained the bliss from hours that fly. 
Here L,ove held out her rosy hands, 

And beckoned to the weary hearts, 
Inviting them to sweet repose, 

And wooing from ambition's arts. 



163 



The travelers paused, delighted, gazed 

Upon the lovely scene of bliss, 
And one, with lover's ardent zeal, 

Endowed her hands with lover's kiss. 
Oh, L^ove !" he cried, " with thee I'll stay ; 

Content to live, to die with thee ! 
Thy smile, my life — thine arms, my world ! 

Oh, wondrous I^ove ! But love thou me !" 

The other gazed and turned on Fame, 

Whose glitt'ring smile upon him beamed : 

* * Divinest mistress of my soul. 

For thee I toil ; — of thee I dreamed ! 
Tho' ambushed perils lie in wait, 

My heart defies all base alarms. 

And boldly scales the mountain steep, 

To seek its heaven in thy arms !" 

O'er slipp'ry stones and rough hewn ways. 

The mountain's height he gained at last ; 
He stood beneath the gloried crown, 

Its streaming splendor round him cast. 
The hallowed praise from wond'ring crowds, 

With scented incense wrapped him round ; 
The murmured music's rhythmic thrill 

Pulsating joy's celestial sound. 

And then he turned with eager warmth, 

A lover's ardor on his brow, 
Those shining arms his own would greet ; 

That smiling face would bless him now ! 
The flimsy Vision mocked his grasp. 

And standing on the summit there, 
He caught a phantom to his breast, 

And pressed his lips to scented air ! 



164 

Perseus 

'Neath the cloudless skies of fair Seriphos, 
Young Perseus weaved ambition's dream, 

And revelled in the glorious dyes, 

While floating along in its limpid stream. 

For his youthful soul aglow with its fire, 

Was hung'ring for deeds both fierce and great ! 
** Oh, mighty Zeus ! and Pallas ! " he cried, 
* ' Let valorous deeds be my life and fate ! " 

For Medusa's head the treacherous King 

Sent Perseus forth on willing quest. 
As weary, worn, and far from his home, 

He lay on enchanted ground to rest, 

At his side bright Pallas Athene stood, 
And spoke to the youth in thrilling tones: 
" Dost seek great deeds ? Why tarryest here ? 

Fly back ! where thy mother weeps and moans ! " 

*' To the monster's lair, oh, point me the way ! 
Great deeds I would do, though doing, die ! 
Ah, turn me not away from the quest ; 
My soul is afire! no weakling am I ! '' 

* ' Dost thou think no deeds of valor or might, 
Unless done afar in battling strife ? 
Arise! and back to Danae fly ! 

Thy arm, though a stripling's, saves her life ! " 

With the words he woke ; to Seriphos hied. 
Where Danae dwelt in fear and dread ; 

His mother freed from evil designs, — 
He then went to seek the Gorgon's hea^ 

With a glass from Pallas, clearly to see 

The face that might turn his own to stone ; 



165 

A sickle bright from Hermes lie bore ; 

A cap that would make his presence unknown ; 

And a pair of sandals, winged and light, 
Fair Nymphs bent to tie upon his feet. 

Once more he went, with Athene's smile, 
Adventures and mighty deeds to meet. 

By the gods equipped he wandered afar, 

And blazoned his shield with deeds of fame ; 

He pierced Medusa's hideous lair, 

Vnd back with her head, a hero came ! 

;ugh ambition's cup was filled to the brim, 
And earth sung his praise and great renown ; 
Though loud hosannas, soaring aloft. 

Entwined with the conqu'ring hero's crown; 

Not a prouder deed escutcheon e'er bore, 
Nor shone with a brighter, greater light, 

Than did the youthful Perseus when 

He fought for his mother's trampled right. 

Though we sigh and dream of glory and fame. 
And far on the quest for laurels roam. 

Great deeds there are much nearer our hands. 
To lift off the cares from hearts at home ! 

X^be Xast Iktss 

In the dusk and gloom of a silent room. 
Through a blinding mist of tears. 

Where a fiery blast thro' my soul was cast 
In a sword of flaming fears ; 

And a fierce despair through the shadowed air, 
In a mocking whisper strayed, 



166 

Till it passed me by with a scorching sigh, 
And my hopes in ashes laid. 

With a shiv'ring moan, in the room alone, 

In the weight of gloom like this, 
I bent down low with a face of woe 

For a last impassioned kiss. 

But the only sign from that 

At the touching of our lij 
Was an icy chill, and I feel it still 

To my trembling finger tips ! 

But the only sign from that love of mine, 

When I kissed my last good-bye, 
Was an icy chill, that will haunt me 

Till I die! 

Just Za^ic tbe Morlb as ^o\x jf inD Jt 

If you wish to be happy and live in content, 

Restrain all unnerving flurry ; 
Though your fortune should ebb to the very last cent 

Fight shy of enfeebling worry, — 
Just taking the world as you find it. 

Be content with the place you're allotted to fill, 

Right cheerily in it working ; 
To your labor respond with a hearty good will, 

Not one of your duties shirking, — 
Just taking the world as you find it. 

If you're born for a sailor you'll not be a judge, 

So curb all ambitious pining, 
But accept your own fate and no other man's grudge, 

Nor languish in drivelling whining, — 
Just taking the world as you find it. 



167 

lyet your neighbors explore the crustacean age 

And analyze Luna's crescent, 
While your forces converge as you open life's page, 

To tackle the living present, — 

Just taking the world as you find it. 

Evolutionists may at your bioplast sneer, 

Assigning you apes for cousins ; 
Keep right on your own way, nor your pedigree fear, 

Though fools cite their proofs by dozens, — 
Just taking the world as you find it. 

Let scientists seek the Darwinian link, 

And probe for the missing fraction. 
Do not stop to consider what people may think. 

But stick to your line of action, — 
And take the old world as you find it. 

Let the pessimists growl at creation's whole plan, 

While wrangling to loose the fetter, 
Through the tangles and doubts push along like a man. 

Nor think you could plan it better, — 
But take it all just as you find it. 

Through the old-fashioned paths with your conscience 
for guide, 
Right cheerily onward travel; 
This life's but a span and eternity's wide. 
And there all the snarls unravel, — 
So take the old world as you find it. 

In the armor of faith through the turmoil and care, 

Press on to the land eternal ; 
And faithful while here be accorded when there, 

A joy and content supernal, — 

For taking the world as you find it. 



168 

Cbartt^ 

DEDICATED TO C. L. A. S. 

Man's dearest gift art thou, sweet Charity ! 

Celestial ministrant, whose name is Love ! 

Immaculate and tender as a dove ! 
Within the soul-elect possessed by thee, 
Thou kindlest vestal flames of sympathy, 

Whose sacred fire descending from above, 

Irradiates on all its supreme love, 
Encircling all within Divinity. 
The fallen sons of earth are not bereft, 

Though winged evils 'scaped Pandora's box, 
No loss can make of man's a sad estate, 
While Charity and blessed Hope are left : 

Celestial friends unbarred by Mammon's locks, 
Who share and soothe each mortal's checkered fate. 

Thou art no slave, nor diplomatic sage, 
Dissembling in no high nor servile guise ; 
The common lot of all is thy emprise, 

The common weal of all thy tutelage. 

No war of favors doth thy white hands wage ; 
The poorest waif or clod beneath the skies. 
Finds knightly favor in thy gentle eyes ; 

Thy soft caress a boon for youth and age ; 

Thou fair handmaid of Christ, supernal fount' 
Of love, thy tears, like fadeless asphodels, 

Bestrew life's rugged path with fragrant grace. 

Our solaced hearts forgetting oft to count 
The many painful scars life's record tells, 
Beguiled to patient trust by thy sweet face ! 



169 



Brtna 

Brina, princess fair, 

A hapless captive lay ; 
Her wondrous beauty Albion saw, 

And stole her for his prey. 
A prize not lightly won, 

For many brave men fell 
To save Erina's honor from 

This tyrant's cruel spell. 

He sought to win her love 

By words and promise fair, 
To make her mistress of his heart, 

With raiment rich and rare. 
A haughty spirit hers. 

That answered him in scorn : 
I give you hate ! to give you less. 

My soul would be forsworn." 

To crush her pride he vowed ; 

A slave he made her be ; 
A menial drudge for slavish work ; 

A cruel master he. 
But still her pride uncrushed, 

Her scorn and hate untamed, 
Had throbbed one pulse with aught save hate, 

Her soul had fled ashamed ! 

For many years she bore 

The cruel badge of slave. 
This child of kings, this queen of maids, 

Forlorn, yet true and brave. 
In visions sweet she saw 

Her own, her lovely isle, 
Rise like a bride from out the sea 

With peaceful, happy smile. 



170 



These dreams were all the joy 

That blessed her wretched life ; 
They raised the flickering spark of hope, 

Foreboding ended strife ; 
With courage filled her soul, 

To bear her wrongs resigned, 
Till God or man should set her free 

From Albion's yoke unkind. 

Devices, harsh and low, 

He urged to break her will ; 
But deeply rooted in her heart, 

The pride of kings was still ; 
" My body captive hold, 

My soul, my will is free ; 
Though slavery's shackles bind me now, 

Think not I'll yield to thee ! " 

By scorn to madness stung, 

He struck Erina down ! 
Unmanly act, a tyrant's deed, 

A blotch in Albion's crown. 
A free born Knight was near 

And saw the cruel blow ; 
He gently raised Erina up. 

And staunched the red blood's flow. 

" By eyes of thine so blue, 

Thy hair of shining gold, 
By martyr's blood of mother land. 

My flag, and thine so old, 
I swear that every wrong 

Of thine avenged shall be. 
Thy bondage cease, thy fetters loosed, 

And thou again be free ! ' ' 



171 



He called his yeomen brave ; 

In eager rush they came 
From east, to west, with willing hearts 

To pay the score of shame. 
Though Albion struggled hard 

To keep his stolen gem, 
' Twas freemen crowned Erina's brow 

With Freedom's diadem ! 

' * Arise ! Erina fair ! 

And dry those starry eyes. 
My love ! My love ! Ah, smile again 

Beneath thy own dear skies ! 
Thy shining hair entwine 

With sparkling gems most rare, 
And on thy bosom snowy pearls, 

My love, so pure, so fair ! ' ' 

This prince of warriors 

Erina's love has won ; 
Right gladly she'll become his bride 

At dawn of Freedom's sun ! 
The homage and the love 

Of loyal hearts and free, 
Shall bless the bond, Erina dear. 

Uniting us to thee ! 

Zbc IktuG of Sbabows 

Out of the darkness the shadows come. 
Softly and stealthily drawing near, — 
Nearer and nearer till misty gray 
Into the midnight has banished day. 
Deeper and denser the shades appear, 
Filling our souls with recoiling fear. 



172 

Round us and upwards the shadows roll 
Out from the deeps of the vast unknown : 
Shadows that come like a midnight foe, 
Wrapping our hearts in dark fear and woe ; 
Shades that enfold us in gloom alone, 
With their sad voices' sepulchral moan. 

Messengers sent 'from the shadow land ; 
Couriers fleet of the shadow king, 
Bearing a message that each must hear, 
Bowed in submission or palsied fear, 
Peace or all Stygian horrors bring, 
These the dread messengers of the king. 

Steadily denser the shadows grow, 
Slowly encircling us one by one ; 
Robbing our joy of its brighest light ; 
Sinking it all in eternal night ; 
Shadowing pleasures yet scarce begun ; 
Forging a darkness we fain would shun. 

Deeper the gathering darkness grows. 
Swiftly obeying the king's behest ; 
Shadows are fleet to that charnel feast. 
Life being victim and Death the priest ; 
Trembling the guise of each summoned guest, 
Blanched with affright, in terror drest. 

Fleeter and swifter the shadows roll, 
Swiftly and fleet when the king draws near ; 
Deeper and denser, until their breath 
Drowns in the blackness of royal Death ; 
Garment most meet for a king so drear. 
Is the dark shroud of a shudd'ring fear. 

Into the heart of the murky depths. 
Softly there flashes a beam of light, 



173 



Beacon of hope in a noisome tomb, 
Silvery rift in the smoth'ring gloom. 
Promise and pledge in the sky of night, 
Guiding the soul in its lonely flight. 

Sign of our faith that has conquered death, 
Show us Thy light in that dreary day ! 
Piercing the gloom of that dreadful hour, 
Breaking the shadow king's awful pow'r ! 
Cross of our Christ ! I^et thy sil'vry ray 
Save us and guide thro' that darksome way ! 

® Salutarts Ibostta! 

I^ife's burden seemed too great to bear ; 
My weary brain in mad despair 
Resolved to break the chain 

Of cruel fate that held me fast. 
Beneath the lash of woe and pain, 

Till faith and hope were past. 

The stars looked down in pity mild 
Upon the waters, wide and wild ; 
The waves in sportive glee 

Gave promise sweet of peace and rest ; 
A peaceful slumber promised me 

Upon the river's breast. 

A distant church rang out its chime, 
Reminding all 'twas vesper time, 
Its music calling me 

From eager death's approaching tread, 
Whence glist'ning fingers beck'ned me 

To ocean's chilly bed. 



174 



Within the church I stood apart 
With sullen and despairing heart, 
Nor deigned to bend the knee, 

But stood in gloomy silence there ; 
The one dark thought — from life to flee — 

So strong, it seemed a pray'r ! 

*' Oh Saving Host ! " an Angel sang ; 
' ' O sal-u-tar-is ! ' ' clear it rang ; 
It thrilled my darkened soul, 

As standing thus in dull despair ; 
A draught of hope, — I drank the whole. 
Yet bended not to pray'r. 

* ' Oh Saving Host ! ' ' was sung again ; 
'* O sal-u-tar-is ! " sweet refrain ; 
Then hushed was every sound ; 

In humblest pray'r each head was bent ; 
Full many graces there were found, 
And peace to all was sent. 

I stood till sound of tinkling bell ; 
On bended knees then humbly fell. 
" Oh, Saving Host ! " I cried ; 
' ' In pity save and guide my life ! 
Deny me not ; my strength I've tried — 
And fainted in the strife ! " 

I left the church with lightened heart. 
Took up my cross and bore my part. 
From ills tho' never free, 

The mem'ry of the song that night, 
'' Oh, Saving Host ! " upholdeth me, 

And maketh all things light ! 



175 

H Sours IRemonslrance 

TO MY BELOVED FRIEND, MRS. E. T, Y. PARKHT7RST 

Why weep ye, friends ? Why grieve ye thus for me ? 

Whose soul unbound by cerements of earth, 
Uprises glad and free, 

Exultant in its own celestial birth. 
Why make ye this transition men call death, 

A veiled distortion of destroying fears ? 
Its dreaded name with trembling breath, 

The Moloch of your sacrificial tears ? 
Such grief were meet if God were not, — 
If God were not ! 

Weep not, weep not, above my coffined clay ! 

Rejoice that from the mortal chrysalis 
The soul has soared away ! 

Spend not your tears upon a shell like this ! 
Its purpose served, resigning to the tomb, 

Rejoice ye, with the liberated soul. 
Ah, not in sadness, not in gloom ! 

Regret the spirit freed from earth's control ! 
Such grief might be if death were all, — 
If death were all ! 

Utm 

Within a grove assembled 

Upon a festal day, 
A mighty throng of people 

In holiday array. 
' Mid games and feats athletic, 

A pole stood, stern and proud. 
And waved a bold defiance 

Unto the gazing crowd. 



176 

A host of ardent heroes 

Came forth with flashing eyes, 
To scale the dizzy summit, 

And win the champion's prize. 
Despite all gallant efforts 

To touch the burnished ball, 
Kach brave, ambitious failure 

Bemoaned his slipp'ry fall. 

While lulled the aspirations, 

Contentious, vain and high, 
A piping voice inquired : 
'' Please, mister, kin I try ? " 
Outstepped a ragged urchin, 
Wilh thin and eager face, 
And upward swiftly mounted 
In strong and agile grace. 

His lithe, young limbs entwining 

The pole with panther bound ; 
From hand to hand increasing 

His distance from the ground ; 
He rose up, higher, higher 

Beyond his rivals all, 
While speculating thousands 

Awaited his downfall. 

Up, up ! Yet slowly, slower. 

Till ceased the little feet ; 
The upturned sea of faces 

Awaiting his defeat. 
But no — again he struggles. 

Again a space ascends ; 
Then stops, while with its burden 

The tall staff slightly bends. 



177 

Was that a motion downward ? — 

They watch with bated breath ; 
See ! See ! The lad is trembling, 

His thin face pale as death. 
A sudden clear-voiced message 

Rang out upon the air : 
'' Hey, Tim ! Up, up ! You'll win it ! 

Go on ! — No resting there ! " 

Like warm electric currents, 

It flashed through fainting Tim, 
And upward shot the climber, 

New vigor in each limb. 
Up, up ! Still higher, higher ! 

He scaled the tapering pole ; 
With firmer stroke and steady, 

Drew near the shining goal. 

He stops ! Is it to weaken 

And loose his slender clasp ? 
Ah, must he lose the vict'ry 

Almost within his grasp ? 
Again that voice came ringing, 

Triumphant, firm and clear : 
Rah—' Rah ! Brave Tim ! No stoppin'; 

Up, up ! Yer need not fear ! 



' ' I know thet yer kin win it ! 
Strike out ! — an' up yer go ! " 



( ( ) 



178 

Ah, just in time that message 

Came floating from below ! 
Like elixir of magic, 

It banished ev'ry pain, 
And just in time Tim's courage 

Rekindled once again. 
Again with nerves full straining, 

He clasped the dizzy pole ; 
Up, up ! The lad's last effort 

Has won the shining goal ! 
As Tim's small hand extended 

In triumph o'er the ball, 
The pent-up waves of feeling, 

Unloosed from ev'ry thrall, 

Dispelled the deathly silence, 

That hung upon the crowd, 
And made the old grove tremble 

With cheers prolonged and loud. 
With elbowing and jostle. 

There issued through the ring, 
A barefoot, coatless gamin, 

Exultant as a king. 
With arms around the victor, 

He said, half-proud and shy : 
" I know'd you'd win it, cullie. 

If I could help you try ! " 



179 

Oh, may we find a comrade, 
When stern defeat is nigh, 

Whose voice shall make us victors 
By helping us to try ! 



tjTSiD'^SS.av 



(3etbsemane 



Across each life a hidden garden lies, 

A sombre garden made for lonely pray'r; 

And once in life each soul must enter there, — 
Must tread its solitude in dazed surprise 
In wretchedness of heart and drenching eyes. 

The spirit's desolation and despair 

The only sound that breaks the mournful air, 
In agony of supplicating cries ! 

There haughty souls are humbled ; pride is slain, 
There souls the purifying draught of woe 

With anguished lips from oxit the chalice drain ! 
This garden's solitude none can forego. 

Nay ! Nay ! Its bitter struggle each must know; 
Their hearts are harmonized by human pain ! 



180 

Stronger tban Deatb 

Oh, ask me not if death can change 

The love I pledge to thee ; 
It grieves my inmost soul to know 

You hold such doubts of me. 

I pledge to thee the soul of love, 

In life, in death, to-day ! 
Nor brightest hopes, nor darkest fears 

Can turn that love away. 

If death should snatch me from thytside 

And leave thee lonely here, 
Ah, me ! could Heaven perfect be 

Unless thy soul was near ? 

If thou should' St take my icy hand, 

And, grieving, call to me. 
My soul would come again to earth 

And softly answer thee. 

If on the mold above my grave 
In wretchedness thou knelt, 

I could not rest, where'er I'd be. 
Till thou my presence felt. 

The bonds of love are stronger far 
Than those of mighty death ; 

The ties that bind true loving souls 
Are not a fleeting breath. 



181 

Beyond the grave that mystic tie 

Remains unsevered still, 
And thou shalt feel to all thy thoughts 

My soul's responsive thrill. 

Then ask me not if aught can change 

The love I plight to thee ; 
True love, once pledged, its fetters bind 

For all eternity. 




"pr^^°;^fe^3^| 



,1, ^ \'r<J^ 



182 

Xat)^ 5vcnc 

Fair Lady Irene in her boudoir reclined, 
'Mid billows of satin that, shimmering, shined, 
To rival the jewels that gleamed on her hand, 
And beamed on their lady, so stately and grand. 

The haughty St. Albans Irene was to wed, 
Ere Sol's fiery chariot three circuits had sped ; 
His name of the noblest, his love and his gold ; 
All into her keeping his treasures untold. 

The torch that I^ove lighted, burned brightly and clear ; 
Its luminous rays bade a truce to all fear ; 
Secure in her love, in her hopes and her pride, 
No prouder nor fairer was ever a bride. 

" A beggar is here — shall I send her away ? " 
The servant thus spoke, and from gorgeous array 
The lady turned carelessly round ; " Give her this 
And food ! " Then returned to her dreaming: of bliss. 



'£> 



'* She seeks not your gold nor your meat, so she bade 
Me say, but to speak to you now would be glad ; 
She won't be put off ! " " You may tell her to come ; 
I'll never refuse her a moderate sum ! " 

The beggar maid stood in her shabby attire, 
And said to the lady, '' I know you desire 
To act in all justice, so here I appeal ; 
A pleader for justice, to you I now kneel. 



183 

" I once was beloved and was lost — dost thou hear ? 
Was lost ; far from home and from friends that are dear, 
I wander a beggar, an outcast, alone ! 
And he has men's praises, but I must atone ! 

" I, too, had great beauty, and he praised it high ; 
I'm now but a wreck, e'en too wretched to die ! 
He offered me gold, but I spurned it in wrath, 
And daily I've trodden the beggar's hard path. 

" I ask for revenge, for the hour is now here ; 
To you I have come with my story so drear, 
And you in your purity surely won't wed 
The man at whose hands all my honor is dead ! '^ 

" Your story's a sad one, but why come to me ? 
And pleading for vengeance ! What can it all be ? 
Thy shame and great sorrow have turned thy poor brain; 
Here's gold — and away ! Thou must not come again ! ' ' 

'' Dost not understand ? At the face of his child 
lyook close ! See'st proof of my story so wild ? 
These lineaments noble, so perfect and rare, 
Proclaim him most truly St. Albans' true heir. 

" I see thou believest ; all thy color has fled ; 
Thy haughty, proud face bears the look of the dead. 
Oh lady, I pray thee, but pity my boy. 
And spare him the fate of misfortune's sad toy ! " 



184 

" Away ! Thou art mad ! I have listened too long ! 
Begone ! I am tired of thy maniac song ! 
'Tis well thou art mad, or this dainty, white arm 
Might wreak upon thee all its deadliest harm ! " 

" Thy heart has no pity for wretches like me ; 
No promise of justice, nor hope do I see. 
To Heaven for vengeance I'll call not in vain ! 
I go — but remember we'll meet yet again ! " 

The beggar's mad story the lady's heart seared, 
I^ike burning hot iron with life blood besmeared ; 
And yet for the beggar no pity she knew, 
Nor cared that the iron had tortured her, too. 

Right bravely she covered her wound from the light, 
And hid all her sorrow away out of sight ; 
Nor on the poor beggar was wasted a sigh. 
Forgetting — for pride and ambition were high. 

From fashion's gay portal fair I^ady Irene, 
To carriage in waiting, forth swept like a queen ; 
Nor saw the lone figure that crouch' d near the door, 
Till close at her side stood the beggar once more. 

" Wilt wed him to-morrow ? Oh ! answer me No ! 

Then God and his angels will bless thee; I know !" 
*' What insolent talk — from a beggar maid, too ! 

Away ! let me pass ! I am nothing to you ! ' ' 



185 

" Oh, woman, have pity ! Oh, think of my boy ! 
Of parents who've tasted the last of all joy ; 
Of hearts that are broken — of hopes that are dead ! 
Of lives whence the sunlight has evermore fled ! ' ' 

In vain all her pleading — no pity was there. 
But loathing and scorn for the pleader's despair. 
* ' Can love that made me but a thing for your frown, 
Raise you to a height on which angels look down ? 

** I swear by the heads that are bent in disgrace, 
By the innocent smile on this baby's sweet face ; 
I swear by my soul — by my honor that's fled ; 
Aye, tremble, St. Albans you never shall wed !" 

The lady fell back in her cushions of ease : 
" Drive on ! and keep beggars away, if you please !" 
The horses sped onward, then suddenly reared, 
A jolt — and a scream — and the beggar besmeared. 

Was dragged from the street but a pitiful mass, 
Unknown and unwept by the strangers that pass. 
They passed by the window, these faces of death. 
And froze the proud heart with their ominous breath. 

But now for the morrow all anxious thoughts fled — 
What reason to fear since the beggar was dead ? 
But deep in her heart was a feverish thrill — 
A look in that face has foreboded her ill ! 



186 

The wedding day dawned all so bright and serene — 
A glorious day for the Lady Irene. 
In glimmering robes of the creamiest white, 
With laces and jewels that flashed in delight, 

She stood by St. Albans, so happy at last ; 
No shadow of fear, nor dark thoughts of the past. 
Secure in her love she stood by his side, 
Awaiting the words that pronounc'd her his bride. 

" Irene wilt thou take for thy wife here to-day ?" 
For answer, a shriek, and " Away ! Oh, away ! " 
With eyeballs distended in terror and fear, 
As if a foul spectre from Hades drew near. 

Outstretching his arms to ward off the dark fiend, 
He fell to the ground, and his bride o'er him leaned. 
Her creamy white roses to crimson were dyed, 
As lips of her lover poured forth the red tide ! 

The wedding day sank into darkness and gloom. 
From chamber of bridal to loathliest tomb ! 
Fair Lady Irene in her mourning alone, 
Caressed the pale lips, unresponsive as stone. 



187 

Uvc /Iftarte ! 

Ave Marie ! guide thou my way 

'Mid thorns or flowers, safely this day. 

Oh, lighter far my sorrows shall be, 

And sweet the joys when guided by thee. 

Ave Marie ! Mother most mild ! 

lyook down in love and call me thy child ! 

Ave Marie ! star of our night ! 

O'er gloomy pathways shining so bright; 

Pitfalls around — temptations within, 

Thy light shall save from darkness and sin. 

Ave Marie ! Mother most mild ! 

Oh, hear my prayer and make me thy child ! 

Xines 

TO MISS RHODA WHITE, ON BECOMING A SISTER OF MERCY 

Thou hast turned from the world and its show, 

From the glitter half veiling the lies. 
To a peace that no worldling can know, 

Though he search o'er the earth till he dies. 
To the haven of Christ's sacred breast 

Thou hast turned full of holiest fire, 
There to find such an infinite rest 

That surpasseth thy keenest desire. 



188 



Xegenb of /IDt Btablo 

Afar from Scotia's frowning shores, 

A daring dreamer came, — 
The mighty deeds of pioneers 

Had set his soul aflame. 
He came to join the noble band, 

Courageous, strong and bold, 
That sailed to woo the western world, 

And win its heart of gold. 

Upon a verdant mountain side 

He reared his humble home ; 
No tapestry upon his walls 

I/Ooked down with saint and gnome. 
No en7iui breeding luxuries. 

Their weakening spell had cast ; 
The mountain sward — his tapestry, 

His wine — the mountain blast ! 

There hung in old baronial halls 

No sweeter pictured face, 
Than wife and children gathered round 

That humble fire-place. 
These three were all that life held dear, 

His joy and golden store ; 
For them he braved all toil and strife. 

And sought this distant shore. 



189 



What fond and foolish dreams awoke, 

When gazing on his heir ! 
Aye — sun-kissed dreams, while stroking back 

His daughter's curly hair ! 
Such dreams a father's blood re-fires, 

Ambitious, proud and bold ; 
Such dreams allured him here to win 

This Eldorado's gold ! 

Around his happy mountain home, 

They roved in merry glee, — 
The nut-brown lad, and sunny mate, 

Like birds as gaily free. 
No shade of care bedimmed their eyes ; 

No sorrow clouds in sight ; 
No shadows flitted round about, 

Foretelling coming night. 

And yet the pall of cruel fate 

In mournful blackness hung, 
And soon were parents' loving hearts 

In bitter anguish wrung. 
An agony far worse than death, 

Their dreams and spirits broke ; 
A messenger of dreadful pow'r 

A darker sentence spoke. 

Ah, death is not the direst fate, 
Nor filled with deepest gloom ! 



190 

Some weary hearts find sweet repose 

Within the dreaded tomb. 
For there, with toil and troubles o'er, 

They lie in blessed rest ; 
Their peaceful calm no more disturbed 

By any hated guest. 

The setting sun that fatal day, 

Went down with glowing smile ; 
The earth and sky in sweet content, 

Ne'er spoke of woe nor guile. 
The stars came out and calmly gazed 

On mountain's peak and side, 
And shed their light upon the home, 

Now lone since even-tide. 

The mother searched from place to place, 

And called with anxious voice ; 
There came no trembling answ'ring note. 

To make her heart rejoice. 
All round about, again, again. 

She searched in eager dread ; 
No trace the wand'ring mother found, 

Revealing childish tread. 

With heart bowed down in frantic grief, 

She homeward turned again, 
And prayed that God in mercy send 

Relief from rending pain. 



191 

No childish form had home returned 

To calm her mother fears ; 
Her pent-up woe found blest release 

In waves of scalding tears. 

But love new hope and vigor lent ; 

No peace within the house she found ; 
So back unto her weary task, 

And out on eager round. 
The moon was shining softly bright ; 

All nature smiled serene ; 
A witching halo hovered round, 

Karth bathed within its sheen. 

The sweetest fragrance filled the air 

From daisies, vines and bells ; 
These dwellers sweet of solitude, 

Whose breath their presence tells. 
The soothing, peaceful influence 

Of earth and sky above, 
Was balm that cooled the anxious soul, 

Devoured with anguished love. 

For hours she toiled and searched in vain,- 

No trace of children found ; 
She called their names in vain appeal, 

Her cries the only sound. 



192 

Despairing then she homeward turned 

With fainting, weary heart, 
And struggled on with fait' ring strength, 

Yet loth to quit her part. 

She fell in pray'r, despairing faint : 
* ' Oh, God of mercy, pray, 
But let me see my babes again, 

Nor take them thus away ! " 
She felt a touch upon her fall, 

And rose in eager hope ; 
A spectral form was beck'ning her. 

And pointing up the slope. 

She followed it, till sick and faint, 

Then stopped in aching pain : 
' * Wouldst see thy children ? — Follow me ! 

Nor cease thou once again !" 
The hollow voice like magic spell, 

Revived her failing strength ; 
She followed then her mystic guide 

All through the weary length. 

Nor faltered once her tireless feet, 
Till gained the steep ascent ; 

Then pointing down the rocky cleft, 
The spectre form was bent: 
" Behold that rock, and thou shalt see 
Thy lovely children there. ' ' 



193 

She gazed far down with anxious eyes, 
That pierced the shadowed air. 

She turned to speak — the form was gone ! 

She stood in grief alone ! 
The night winds caught her streaming hair, 

And echoed back her moan. 
Once more the rocky cleft she sought, 

In frenzied fierce alarms ; 
The spectre stood within the cleft — 

Her children in his arms ! 

The frantic mother loudly called 

And stretched her eager hands ; 
But vain appeal ! they could not hear, 

Nor break those spectral bands. 
The mocking laugh from demon bold 

The breeze of midnight bore, 
As in the mountain's rocky side 

He vanished evermore ! 

Brave men went searching far and wide 

Through ev'ry mountain way, 
But found no trace of babes, or fiend, 

And sadly turned away. 
The parents crossed the ocean wild, 

Back to their native land ; 
Ambition's dream and hopes all wrecked 

Upon the golden strand ! 



194 

The mother's heart soon ceased to mourn ; 

It broke, though strong and brave ; 
Beneath the skies of Scotland's home, 

She found an early grave ! 
While round our fireside's happy glow, 

This legend we recount, 
And call it since that fatal day, 

Diablo ! — Devil's Mount ! 




195 

XTbe lS>^im /iDaobalene 

The sunset's deep'ning glow 

Through the shuttered windows creep, 
Where a, woman, wan and low. 

Awakes from her troubled sleep. 
In the twilight's mystic gloom, 

Flitting forms, like spectres, float 
Around the shadowy room ; 

Flitting, they mockingly gloat, 
Whispering, whispering, 

Of the Styx and its shadowy boat ! 

A gilded " Palace of Sin," 

With its hangings rich and rare ; 
But its beauty cannot win 

The girl from her dull despair. 
She is dying, dying here 

Close to sounds of vulgar mirth ; 
Despairing, fainting with fear, 

What is the glory all worth ? 
Wondering, wondering, 

If there's peace for the dying on earth ? 

Sad thoughts, the ghosts of her past. 
Draw the silken curtains back, 

And such scornful glances cast, 
They torture her like a rack. 

Through the aisles of vanished years, 
Flitting visions come and go, 



196 

And drench her soul with their tears, 

Tearfully drooping so low, 
Wearily, wearily, 

'Neath the weight of the bitterest woe ! 

In deep and sullen despair, 

She arose and gazed in hate, 
On the room and grandeur fair. 

The air with its od'rous weight, 
I^ike a loathsome cobra twined, 

Crushing out her fleeting hours ! 
Each gem with eyes of the reptile shined. 

Scorching her soul with their pow'rs, 
Gloatingly, gloatingly, 

As the serpent its victim devours ! 

She sought the truth from her glass, 

And its mirrored answer came ; 
But 'twas Death that smiled, alas ! 

And gazed from that royal frame ! 
As its truthful face she read, 

Falling faint in nervous fear, 
And chilled with shiv'ring dread. 

Feeling the messenger near ! 
Pleadingly, prayerfully : 
* Send not death to me here. Lord ! — not here f' 

Then down and out to the street. 
In her eager flight from shame ; 



197 

Not a head was bowed to greet, 

Though many were friends in name ; 
For a woman wronged and lost, 

Toy of Satan's idle hour,^ 
A bauble carelessly tost — 

lyoses her sway and pow'r ; 
Dying and withering 

With the glow of her beauty's dower 

She walked alone in the crowd, 

And its lonely bitterness, 
lyike a damp and chilling shroud. 

She felt on her bosom press ; 
And from mem'ry's prison room 

Rushed the past to life again, 
And scenes came out from their tomb, 

Surging the maddened brain, 
Making her misery 

Like a decade of terrible pain ! 

And he passed close by her side 

With his wife so pure and good ; 
Though for him her honor died, 

He frowned, as she trembling stood ; 
And drew away in fear, 

Lest the robes that trailed at his feet, 
And virtue's raiment so dear. 

Those of the wicked should meet. 



198 

Fearfully, carefully, 

Did the saint from the sinner retreat ! 

She saw the rev'lling scene, 

And his draught of deadly wine, 
And his lips that called her '' queen," 

And jewels that treacherous shine. 
Ah, the days so sweet and brief, 

Passion's swiftly ending dream, 
That wakes eternity's grief 

Clearly in memory's beam : 
Shadowy torturers 

Of her ruin- wrought, feverish dream ! 

Now dying out in the gloom, 

Not a place to rest her head ! 
For she spurned the gilded room, 

And from its memories fled. 
She had burst her prison bars. 

Seeking Death's unveiled face 
Beneath the pitying stars, — 

Shuddering, penitent, 
From the air of its stifling disgrace ! 

*Twas an Angel guided her flight 

To a place of blessed rest. 
To the home of youth's delight, 

Kre guilt on her soul was prest ! 
Ah, 'twas many weary years, — 

Glaring years of brazen fame — 



199 . 

Since facing out in her tears ! 

Back with dishonor and shame, 
Blighted and withering, 

To the home of her innocence came. 

She saw the jessamine vine 

And her own magnolia tree. 
And the placid starlight shine 

On things as they used to be ; 
While each budding tree and leaf 

Voiced a fragrant " Welcome home ! " 
To soothe the wanderer's grief. 

Home ! and to never more roam ! 
Dying in peacefulness 

In the shade of her hallowed home ! 

She waited, breathless and weak. 

To her knock so light and low, 
And drew back too faint to speak. 

At frowns that would bid her " Go ! " 
But her voice unloosed their spell : 
" Mother, dear — I come to thee ! " 
Then over the threshold she fell ! 

Gathering faces could see, 
Briefest and fleetingest 

Would the stay of the prodigal be ! 

Once more the motherly hands 

On her throbbing brow were pressed ; 



200 

They unbound the fett'ring bands, 

And brought her the longed-for rest. 
From those lips forgiveness came, 

Kissing sin and guilt away, 

Purity's glistening ray 
Tranquilly ushering 

The first gleam of Eternity's day ! 

In accents tender and mild, 

She was welcomed back to rest, 
And was called again " My child ! " 

And held to the loving breast. 
From a mother's pure embrace, 

Soared the soul of Magdalene, 
The arms of sanctified grace 

Wrapping their glorified sheen. 
Lovingly, savingly, 

Round the soul of the demi-monde Queen 




